Ransom
by beckyharvey29
Summary: Frank Gallagher owes Terry Milkovich a shit ton of money. Terry enlists his sons to kidnap Frank's son for ransom. Mickey meets Ian and nothing goes according to plan.
1. Scoping Ian Gallagher

Mickey Milkovich took a slow drag from his cigarette as he kept his eyes focused on the Kash and Grab convenience store across the street. He and his brothers, Iggy and Colin, had been staking the place out for nearly two hours now, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

Their father sent them on this job, and there was no other way around it but to get it done. If their father wanted something to happen, they made it happen—no questions asked—or they risked facing their father's unrelenting wrath.

Mickey didn't know this Ian Gallagher asshole, didn't even know what he looked like. All he knew was that the kid was sixteen, with freckles and stupid fucking red hair, and his dad Frank Gallagher owed _his_ dad Terry Milkovich a whole-fucking-lot of money.

For months now, Frank skirted around the issue, always finding typical and nonsensical Frank Gallagher excuses to get out of paying up, and Terry Milkovich was fucking sick of playing Gallagher's games.

It was time to collect.

"Come on, it's fucking cold out here. I'm freezing my nuts off," Iggy whined from behind Mickey, his breath coming out in puffs in the frigid night air. "Can't we just go in and grab the little shit and call it a fucking night?"

"Hold your fucking horses, man," Mickey snapped irritably. "We can't go in for the kid with fucking towelhead in the way. We gotta do this right. We gotta wait for him to leave, so we can get him from behind when he's alone."

"Why can't we just go in, knock towelhead the fuck out, and snatch the little fucker? It could be fucking hours before he leaves!"

"Security cameras, fuckhead! We can't risk it," Mickey exclaimed. "Just calm the fuck down and chill, alright?! You're giving me a goddamn headache."

Iggy sighed in exasperation and huddled deeper into his bulky coat. "I don't get this shit anyway. Why go after the guy's kid; why not just go after Frank?"

"Because no one gives a shit about Frank Gallagher, that's why. We kidnap him, no one would bat an eyelash, let alone give us the money," Mickey snapped. "Quit asking so many stupid fucking questions, Jesus!" He glanced back towards the store. "Fuck it, wait here. I'm gonna go inside and scope this kid out. Plus I need beer to put up with you fucking morons."

Despite his brothers' bitter protests, Mickey left his crouched position from behind the garbage cans and sauntered across the street, anxious to get inside the warm store to thaw out a little. He tossed his cigarette into the night, opened the door, and narrowly missed running into an elderly woman on her way out.

"Watch where the fuck you're going!"

The woman, whose kind smile quickly faded, looked away and hurried on past him.

Mickey smirked at her retreating form, entered the store and looked around. The place was empty and there was no one behind the counter. He decided to take full advantage of the opportunity as he made his way over to the coolers to grab a 40 ouncer of beer and shoved the bottle inside of his coat. Maybe he'd even take some Slim Jims while he was at it.

He normally robbed the Get and Go over on 89th and State Street. Maybe this place could be his new spot. The security here was absolute shit.

"You gonna pay for that?"

Mickey spun around and was immediately faced with his target. Sure enough, the kid was just as Terry had described; tall, freckles, stupid red hair. Mickey had expected someone who looked like the character from MAD Magazine though.

This kid certainly wasn't that.

"What the fuck're you gonna do if I say no?" Mickey snapped.

"Then I'll call the cops," the kid said sternly, crossing his toned arms across his broad chest.

Mickey scoffed and eyed him up from head to toe, secretly admiring his take-no-shit attitude. He also had a strange feeling that he had met him before, but couldn't place where or when.

The kid continued to eye him up and down warily as well, his green eyes taking him in, inevitably lingering on his knuckle tattoos. "You're Mickey Milkovich, aren't you?"

"How the fuck do you know my name?" Mickey shot back, taken completely fucking off guard by this kid.

Ian dropped his arms to his sides and smirked knowingly with a tilt of his head. "We've lived in the same neighborhood our whole lives. And you're two grades higher than me…or were, but didn't you flunk a bunch of times?"

"Fuck you," Mickey spat venomously, not liking that this fucktard had the upper hand and knew so much about him. This whole kidnapping thing would go a whole-hell-of-a lot smoother if the fucking kid didn't know who he was. _Fuck_.

"We were also on the same baseball team when we were kids," Ian continued with an endearing smirk, his previously stiff posture softening slightly. "I remember you whipping your dick out and pissing on first base."

"What the fuck ever," Mickey scoffed, moving to head towards the door, eager to get away from those piercing green eyes and cocky smirk.

"Well, are you gonna pay for that beer or what?"

"Fuck off!" Mickey said as he shoved his way roughly past him and out the door, throwing an offensive finger gesture over his shoulder as a parting gift.

"I'll just put it on your tab, asshole!" Ian called out before shaking his head with a resigned sigh and going back behind the counter.

"Who was that?" Kash asked, coming to the front of the store, still in the process of refastening his belt.

"No one important," Ian said as he placed a five dollar bill in the register to cover Mickey's beer. "Just some dumb thug."

Meanwhile, Mickey crossed the street and crouched back down behind the garbage cans, his brothers giving him questioning glares. "The fuck're you looking at?" he snapped, still smarting from his interaction with the feisty redhead.

"So?" Colin asked impatiently. "You gonna tell us what the fuck happened?"

"The kid's ugly as shit…that's what happened," Mickey retorted as he opened his beer and took a long satisfying swig to help calm his jittery nerves.

* * *

Almost an hour later, the door to the Kash and Grab finally opened and the Milkovich brothers straightened in excited anticipation. They watched with bated breath as towelhead locked the door and then turned to the redhead. The pair said something incoherent to each other, and then towelhead was leaning in and kissing the redhead tenderly on the mouth, pulling the kid closer against him by the waist.

"What the fuck, they're gay for each other!" Iggy whispered harshly. "Isn't towelhead like fucking fifty?"

"I'm going to take extra pleasure in bashing that fag's face in now," Colin grumbled back, cracking his knuckles.

Mickey just sat quietly as he watched Ian and towelhead kissing. He tore his eyes away and swallowed down the bitter lump in his throat, convincing himself that it was the blatant display of gay affection that made him sick to his stomach. The only thing that _really_ made him sick, however, was the fact that towelhead was fucking old enough to be the kid's dad. _Fucking pedo._

"The kid is leaving with fucking towelhead, just fucking great!" Colin hissed, pulling Mickey away from his thoughts as the couple began heading towards a white van parked at the curb. They certainly hadn't seen that coming.

Mickey retrieved his gun from his coat pocket and turned to look at his brothers, his eyebrows raised to show he meant business. "We better fucking do this fast then."

Within a matter of seconds, the three brothers shot up from their hiding spots, pulled their masks down over their faces, and confronted the kissing couple head on.

"Get your hands in the fucking air!" Mickey shouted.

"Don't do anything stupid!" Iggy added.

Ian and towelhead both shot their arms high in the air, their faces stark white with shock and fear as they spun around to face their attackers.

"Get down!" Mickey yelled, kicking towelhead hard in the back of the knee, causing the man to collapse to the ground with an agonizing yelp.

"What the fuck! Why did you do that?!" Ian exclaimed, his arms still high in the air, even though it was obvious he was resisting the strong urge to bend down and help his boyfriend.

"Shut the fuck up!" Mickey yelled, aiming his gun at Ian as his brothers relentlessly and maliciously kicked the shit out of towelhead. He grabbed the distressed-looking kid roughly under the arm and began dragging him away from the brutal display, feeling a strange obligation to spare him at least that. "Let's go, fuckheads!" he then screamed at his brothers. "We ain't got all night!"

Iggy and Colin gave towelhead a few final kicks for good measure; leaving him bloodied, battered, and sputtering on the ground.

Mickey pushed Ian roughly, causing him to stumble and nearly fall before catching himself. "Walk," he ordered gruffly, his gun pressed hard into the small of Ian's back.

"Why're you doing this?" Ian asked once they reached the Milkovich's beater.

"Just shut up and get in," Mickey snapped, opening the door and shoving Ian roughly inside. He got into the backseat with him, while Iggy and Colin hopped in the front, both of them out of breath and running high on adrenaline.

They all pulled their masks off as the car started and they peeled out on screeching tires, leaving a thick cloud of exhaust fumes behind them.

Mickey laughed wildly and slapped the back of Colin's seat excitedly, his breathing heavy. He then looked over at Ian, seeing the recognition dawning on Ian's face, his eyes questioning and sad.

"Mickey?" Ian asked, his voice small and almost childlike as he realized exactly who his abductors were. "What's going on? Why're you doing this?"

For a split second, Mickey froze and regretted all of it. He then forced himself to toughen the hell up and dug his gun harder into Ian's side, getting his head back in it. "What did I tell you? Shut the fuck up."

He watched as Ian turned his head to look away, but not before catching the wetness rimming his eyes. _Fuck._ He had a feeling this kidnapping wasn't going to be as cut and fucking dry as he had originally thought.


	2. Dinner For Two

After ten minutes of driving, they finally pulled into a vacant lot. It was way too dark out for Ian to know exactly where they were, but he knew it couldn't be anywhere good. It was pitch black and there didn't seem to be anyone or anything around, just a bunch of abandoned, creepy ass buildings.

His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, and he racked his brain trying to figure out why the hell Mickey Milkovich and his lowlife, idiot brothers would be doing any of this.

_Was this about the fucking beer thing?_

The scrappy, blond Milkovich behind the wheel cut the engine and took a slow drag from his cigarette, the red tip burning in the dark. "Ready, boys?"

Mickey shoved his gun deeper into Ian's side, causing Ian to wince in pain. "We're gonna get out of the car now, and you're not going to try anything stupid. Got it, bitch?"

Ian looked towards Mickey pointedly, his jaw stiff. "Got it," he said flatly.

Mickey leaned towards him, his chest brushing against Ian's arm, and opened the door with one hand, all the while keeping the gun pressed against Ian's ribs. "Get out," he instructed, his face only inches from Ian's, his breath warm on his cheek.

Ian did as he was told and climbed out of the car. He held his hands in the air as Mickey climbed out behind him.

"Move," Mickey ordered with a shove, and the four of them headed towards the nearest abandoned building. It was pitch dark inside as they slowly made their way up a few flights of dilapidated steps. Ian tripped once, only to have Mickey shove him forward roughly from behind to keep moving.

"Alright, alright. . . Jesus," Ian grumbled.

They finally entered a huge, hollowed room. The walls were gray and peeling, and the large windows were caked with dust and dirt, barely letting in any moonlight.

It seemed obvious to Ian that they had prepared everything. . .that it had all been planned. There were a few metal folding chairs scattered about, flashlights waiting to be used, and a small food cooler sitting in one corner.

"Get over there," Mickey said, shoving Ian across the room. "Sit," he ordered, motioning towards the chair with a wave of the gun.

Ian locked eyes with Mickey as he reluctantly sat down on the hard metal chair. "Why are you doing this, Mickey. What's going on?"

"He fucking knows who you are?" Iggy exclaimed, swinging around to glare at Mickey. "What the fuck, man! You didn't tell us the asshole knows you!"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey spat through clenched teeth as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Colin made an intimidating show of cocking his gun, all the while keeping his intense glare focused on Ian.

"Alright, Dirty Harry," Mickey said irritably as he went to work tying Ian to the chair. "He's following our orders, you can put your fucking gun away."

"What if he tries something stupid?"

"He fucking won't," Mickey snapped before leaning over Ian's shoulder and looking down at him glaringly. "Will he?"

Ian didn't say anything; just sat quiet, confused, and scared as Mickey finished tying his wrists achingly tight behind him.

"Why don't you idiots go outside and call pops, let him know what the fuck's going on," Mickey ordered, wanting his brothers to get the fuck out of his sight. Christ, they were annoying him. He should have just handled this shit on his own.

Iggy and Colin grumbled incoherently before leaving.

Mickey gave Ian's ropes a final tug before walking around to face him. He locked eyes with Ian, not liking the way he was looking up at him, all hopeless and scared and shit. "Look, nothing will fucking happen to you, so long as you don't pull any stupid shit and my pops gets his money, got it?"

"Money? What money?" Ian asked, looking genuinely confused. "I don't even know your dad."

"No, but _your_ dad does."

"My dad? You mean Frank? What the fuck did Frank do now?"

"He owes my dad a shit ton of money and it's time to collect."

Ian frowned even harder when realization finally set in. "You're kidnapping me so that Frank gives your dad money?"

"Bingo, asswipe."

Ian slowly closed his eyes and hung his head. "Fuck."

Mickey watched him, torn between asking him what was wrong and not giving a flying fuck. He found himself asking anyway, "What? What the fuck's wrong?"

"Frank doesn't give a shit about me," Ian said, his voice husky and barely audible. "He'd probably rather me be dead, than to have to pay a debt."

Mickey stared down at Ian, his demeanor softening just a tad. Barely a tad. Kidnapping was supposed to be cut and dry; no attachment, no emotional investment. He wasn't going to feel sorry for this kid, that's not why he was here. Still, as Ian hung his head again and sniffed, he couldn't help but suddenly feel like the world's biggest dick.

"You might as well just put a bullet in my head now, get it over with," Ian grumbled.

Mickey ran a hand over his hair and then rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to assess the situation. "Alright, just shut the fuck up," he finally said, deciding to put his head back in the game. He wasn't going to be fooled by any of this, no matter how doe-eyed the guy looked. "I'm not here to give you sympathy and talk about your fucking daddy issues. Your dad's going to give us our money and then I'll let you go. End of story."

"And what if he doesn't?" Ian asked stiffly, tilting his chin up defiantly.

"Then we'll jump that hurdle when we fucking get there," Mickey spat as he turned around. "Now shut that fucking mouth of yours before I shut you up."

Just then, Colin and Iggy came stalking back in.

"Dad wants one of us to stay here with the homo for the night while he gets in touch with Frank," Colin announced as he tilted his head to the side and lit a cigarette.

"I'm not fucking doing it," Iggy declared as he rubbed his hands together and blew into them. "It's too fucking cold for all that."

"Well, I'm not fucking doing it either," Colin stated. "I got better shit to do than babysit the chick from Brave over there."

"I'll fucking stay, Jesus," Mickey snapped. "Can't expect you two dipshits to do anything right, anyway."

"Alright, man," Colin said, already heading towards the exit, not bothering to argue. "We'll keep you posted. You got your burner on you?"

Mickey patted his coat pocket where his phone was. "Yeah, now fuck off."

Iggy reached into his own jacket and pulled out a box of bullets. He tossed them at Mickey, who caught them awkwardly against his chest. "Just in case the kid tries something stupid."

Mickey snuck a look back at Ian, whose attention was focused on the concrete ground. He wasn't looking forward to spending the night here in the frigid cold with the doe-eyed kid, but knew if he left one of his inept brothers to do it, Ian would probably be abused for no other reason but for their sheer entertainment. He may be heartless, but he wasn't _that_ fucking heartless.

Once his brothers were gone, Mickey looked back at Ian, who was slumped dejectedly forward, still staring at the ground. "Look, fuck. . .it's not that bad, alright?"

Ian slowly lifted his head, his jaw tight. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one tied to a fucking chair."

"Your dad will get us the money and then we'll let you the fuck go. Simple as that."

"Fat fucking chance."

Mickey stared back at Ian, finding his tough guy act kind of endearing? _What the fuck, man_.

"Your family. . .don't you have like ten fucking brothers and sisters or some shit? I'm sure one of 'em can get us the money." He pulled the second chair over and sat down on it backwards facing Ian.

"We don't have any money," Ian muttered. "We barely had enough money to pay our fucking heat bill this month."

Mickey watched as Ian's eyelids fluttered down and then back up, his long eyelashes brushing against the tops of his flushed cheeks.

"How much does Frank owe, anyway?"

"Ten grand."

"Ten thousand dollars?!" Ian exclaimed, his voice echoing throughout the space. "There's no way in hell that Frank—or anyone I know—can come up with that sort of cash. It's fucking impossible!"

"Alright, just calm the fuck down," Mickey said, holding up a hand.

"Fuck!" Ian exclaimed, suddenly bouncing in his chair, causing it to teeter harshly from side to side. "Shit! Goddamn fucking Frank!"

Mickey jumped up from his chair, staring down at the frantic kid in front of him, not expecting that outburst. "The fuck is wrong with you!?"

Ian stilled and hung his head, his chest rising and falling heavily. "My fucking father is what's wrong! Fucking sperm donor more like it! Leave it to Frank to pull some shit like this. . .like he hasn't fucked up my life enough as it is!"

Mickey just watched Ian, watched as he crumbled and melted into tears; thick, wet drops rolling down his cheeks. He blankly reached his gun up and scratched at his temple with the barrel, not knowing how to react to any of this.

Ian heaved as he cried, clutching his hands into fists, causing the ropes to tighten excruciatingly. "Fuck," he choked through his sobs.

Mickey slowly sat back down once he realized Ian was finished with his tantrum. "You good?"

"Yeah, just fucking great," Ian muttered bitterly.

Mickey fidgeted a little bit, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in the situation. He wasn't used to dealing with other people's emotions; especially guys. . .especially guys he kidnapped. But Ian was different somehow. He was practically just a kid; only a year younger than him.

In some weird, fucked up way, he felt an odd sort of kinship to the kid—almost as if they were alike in a way—both living in a fucked up neighborhood, dealing with fucked up dads, living fucked up lives.

"Fuck. Look. . .you hungry, thirsty?"

"No," Ian answered stubbornly.

"I'm fucking trying to be nice here."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ian asked, lifting his dark eyes to Mickey's. "This is you being nice!?"

"Fine. . .don't fucking eat. See if I fucking care," Mickey retorted harshly, standing up and walking to the small blue cooler in the corner. He pulled out a bologna and mustard sandwich and unwrapped it before taking a huge bite.

Ian slowly lifted his head and watched him, his stomach suddenly grumbling at the thought of food. The last thing he ate had been a donut when his shift first started nearly seven hours ago. "What else you got in there?" he asked with a sniffle.

Mickey looked at Ian pointedly with raised eyebrows as he slowly chewed his food. "You fucking kidding me right now? Your ass is gonna be picky?"

"Well, I don't like bologna."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Mickey sputtered as he pulled out a PB and J. He unwrapped it and walked over to Ian. "Here you fucking go, princess."

"How can I eat with my hands tied?" Ian asked with wide, questioning eyes.

"I'm not untying your hands, so get that idea out of your stupid little red head." Mickey shoved the sandwich in Ian's face. "Eat. You're lucky you're even getting this."

Ian locked eyes with Mickey as he tentatively opened his mouth to take a bite.

Mickey stared down at him and watched as Ian's soft pink lips closed down around the bite of sandwich. He suddenly got something caught in his throat and he cleared it and looked away.

"Thank you," Ian mumbled around his mouthful of food.

"Don't get fucking used to it," Mickey snapped, wondering why his heart was picking up just a little bit faster.

_Fuck was wrong with him_.


	3. Tough Guy

After they finished their stale sandwiches, both boys ceased conversation, having nothing else to say to each other. Mickey moved to the floor and sat back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, his legs crossed at the ankles as he slept.

Ian watched Mickey hatefully, knowing he himself wouldn't be able to sleep much, no matter how exhausted he was. Not only did his whole fucking body ache, but Mickey was snoring louder than a damn freight train.

He groaned and struggled against his restraints once again, knowing it was a lost cause. The ropes only seemed to dig into his wrists even more. "Fuck," he cursed into the darkness.

The only light in the room came from a flashlight laying at Mickey's side, and the moonlight barely filtering in through the dusty opaque windows. So, basically, he was freezing cold and beyond exhausted, tied to a fucking chair in the middle of total darkness. He was also pretty sure he heard some fucking bats flying around above his head.

"Fuck," he muttered again as he thought about the fucked up situation he was in. He rested his head back and groaned.

He really couldn't catch a fucking break.

"What the fuck are you spewing over there? Go the fuck to sleep."

Ian jumped slightly as Mickey's dark tone suddenly pierced through the quiet. "I can't sleep," he said. "How can I fucking sleep when my back is stiff as a board and my wrists are throbbing in pain?"

"Not my fucking problem," Mickey spat. "Just keep your mouth shut."

"Look, can you at least just loosen the ropes? Don't be a dick."

Mickey lifted his head from the wall, aimed the flashlight right in Ian's face, and stared at him blankly. "What the fuck do you take me for, a fucking idiot? You really think I'd loosen your ropes? You're out of your fucking mind."

"Come on, man," Ian all but begged. "Just a little. My fucking circulation is being cut off. I can't even feel my fingers."

"No fucking way."

"Look, you have the fucking gun! I'm not going anywhere, trust me."

"I can trust you about as far as I can fucking throw you," Mickey snapped, his eyebrows raised.

"Says the guy holding me at gunpoint," Ian muttered under his breath.

"Go to sleep."

"I can't!"

"Do I gotta get you a fucking muzzle?!"

Ian let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his neck back and forth, trying to work out the kink that was beginning to form there. "Alright, fine. If you want to be a dick, then I'll be a dick. I can talk all night."

Mickey lifted his gun, aimed it at Ian and cocked it.

Ian opened his mouth to say more, but decided better of it.

"Now go to sleep."

Ian sighed again and remained quiet for a few minutes before deciding to walk on the wild side. "Look, I'm not going to run, okay? I wouldn't do that. I know how fucked up your family is, and I wouldn't do something stupid like that and put my own family in danger. Just loosen up the ropes, just a little. That's all I'm asking."

Mickey groaned, muttered a few obscenities under his breath, and then finally stood up. "You're a demanding fucker, aren't you?" he said irritably as he walked behind Ian and loosened his ropes; not a lot but enough to take some of the pressure off. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are," he grumbled.

"Thanks," Ian mumbled as he wiggled his numb fingers to get some feeling back.

"Now can I go the fuck to sleep?" Mickey asked, waving his gun to the side, his eyebrows arched in annoyance.

"Yep," Ian said in fake sweetness, his sarcastic grin stretching across his freckled face.

Mickey's eyebrows slowly lowered as he regarded Ian. "Wipe that smile off your face before I wipe it off for you," he said, even though his words didn't hold that certain edge he wanted them to. He walked back to his former spot and slid down the wall back to the floor.

"I don't think you're as tough as you want everyone to think you are," Ian said bravely.

"Jesus Christ," Mickey hissed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Do you ever shut the hell up?"

"Not really."

"Do I have to break your fucking arm or something to get you to realize I'm not fucking around here?"

Ian set his mouth in a firm line and looked towards a window. Even though he didn't think Mickey would actually break his arm, he didn't really want to take that chance.

Mickey watched him for a few seconds with arched eyebrows until he was sure that Ian wasn't going to say anything else. He tucked his gun and flashlight next to him and then rested his head back, intent on getting at least a little bit of sleep. Kidnapping someone was exhausting, especially a rambling fucker like Ian fucking Gallagher

"Mickey?" Ian asked after about ten minutes, pulling Mickey from his light slumber.

"What the fuck now, Orphan Annie?"

"What if I have to piss?" Ian asked. "Are you gonna hold my dick for me?"

Something inside of Mickey snapped then—he didn't know what—but before he realized what he was doing, he struggled to his feet and lunged at him. He grabbed Ian by the throat and tilted his head back roughly. He pressed his face an inch from Ian's; their breathing unsteady, hot and mingling as they stared each other down.

"Don't ever fucking say anything like that to me again, you got it?" Mickey warned through gritted teeth.

Ian glared up at him with an intense stare, his adam's apple bobbing hard against Mickey's hand. He ever-so-slightly nodded his head in understanding.

Mickey glared right back, not knowing why Ian's comment about holding his dick irritated him so much. Of all the things Ian had said in the past few hours, why was that what sent him over the edge?

"Good," he spat harshly before removing his hand from around Ian's neck, noticing that he left white fingermarks on his skin. He walked back to his spot and sat back down.

Ian didn't say anything else the rest of the night.

* * *

Mickey grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, the backs of his eyelids painted bright orange. He stretched his legs and arms out before finally blinking his eyes open. He squinted against the sunlight that was pouring in through a clear spot in the window. "Fuck," he muttered as he struggled to stand up on sore legs. He gripped his aching lower back and sneaked a look over at his captive.

He stilled a little as he watched Ian sleep. Ian was slumped uncomfortably in the chair, his head bent forward, chin to chest. He looked peaceful. . .innocent. . .something else.

Mickey looked away and rubbed at his eyes before reaching into his pocket and retrieving his phone. "What the fuck," he muttered under his breath when he saw that there were no calls from his brothers or father. How long did they expect him to fucking wait?

He walked over to the cooler and grabbed a sandwich and a Coke. _'Breakfast of fucking champions,_' he thought bitterly to himself. He sat down in the empty chair and ate his meal in silence, every once in a while sneaking a tentative glance in Ian's direction.

Ian finally began to stir, groaning and grunting as he struggled weakly against his restraints. He looked around with bleary eyes, realization dawning on him as he remembered where he was.

"Rise and fucking shine, Cinderella," Mickey said around a mouthful of food.

Ian's eyes landed on Mickey and then he looked away quickly, his eyes glistening, obviously realizing it hadn't been a nightmare.

Mickey thickly swallowed his bite of food. "You want something to eat? We only have bologna left, so take it or leave it."

"I don't want anything from you," Ian said flatly.

Mickey's eyes involuntarily dropped to Ian's neck, feeling guilty about the marks that bruised his pale skin. He still didn't know what had gotten into him the night before. Sure, he had definitely planned on intimidating the guy with a gun, but he hadn't intended on actually putting his hands on him.

"You gotta eat something," Mickey found himself saying. "We have to keep you alive if we want our money. You're already a skinny shit."

"I could kick your ass in a fight," Ian snapped haughtily, turning his intense green eyes on Mickey. "Untie me and let's duke this out, man to man. No fucking guns."

Mickey ignored the strange twitch he felt in his cock and smirked. He walked to the cooler and pulled out a sandwich. He unwrapped it and put it in Ian's face.

"I don't fucking want it," Ian said hotly.

"Fine," Mickey said, tossing the sandwich back into the cooler. "I'm not going to argue with you. Starve for all I fucking care."

"You don't care about anything, do you?" Ian challenged. "Why are you even doing this? I've never done shit to you."

Mickey ignored him and walked to the window to scope out the area outside. The building was abandoned with a couple acres of deserted land surrounding them. He doubted anyone would stumble upon them.

"Answer me!" Ian shouted. "Don't you have a sister? Her name's Mandy, right? She's in my grade. What would she think about all of this?"

Mickey turned around, his expression hard. "Don't bring my sister into this, asshole. She doesn't need to be involved in any of this. And, like I told you, I'm not going to fucking hurt you, so calm your tits."

"Not hurt me, huh? Is that why you almost choked the shit out of me last night?" Ian's voice was wavering, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears.

"Just. . .shut up. _Please_."

"Just let me go," Ian begged. "I'll run. I'll go to fucking New York or California and you won't ever see me again. You can just kill Frank. No one needs him anyway."

"Please, just shut the fuck up!" Mickey said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Ian bit his lower lip and looked away, feeling hopeless in the moment.

"Look, I don't have a fucking choice in this, alright. So even if I wanted to let you go—which I don't—I couldn't."

Ian just shook his head gently and let out a puff of air.

Mickey sighed and looked at him. He walked over to him, stopping a couple of feet away. "Look, I didn't mean to choke you like that, alright," he said oddly, scratching at his temple. "I had no intention on hurting you. You just talk so fucking much and I snapped."

Ian kept looking away, a tear finally escaping and sliding slowly down his cheek. He was pissed that he couldn't reach up and swipe it away. The last thing he wanted was for Mickey fucking Milkovich to see him cry.

"No one is going to hurt you, alright?" Mickey watched as Ian finally turned his head and looked up at him.

"You may think I'm some dumb kid," Ian said, "but I'm not. You may not hurt me, but what's going to happen when Frank doesn't comply, huh? What's your brothers or your dad going to do to me then?"

Mickey just stared at him, not knowing how to answer him. Any other time, he wouldn't have cared less what his dad or brothers did to a captive, but this time—for some reason he didn't fully grasp or even want to grasp—he wondered exactly what they would do if it came down to it. And he didn't like the unexpected uneasiness that settled in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

Just then, the phone in his pocket vibrated and he reached inside to retrieve it, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Ian.

"Hello?"

"Yo, it's Ig."

"What's up, man?"

"Dad got the word out to Gallagher. Now we're just waiting to hear back. We're giving him two days to get the money to us."

"What the fuck are we gonna do 'til then?" Mickey asked, letting his eyes drop to Ian's chest, watching as it rhythmically rose and fell.

"One of us is gonna have to stay there with him," Iggy said. "Want me to swing by and keep the fucker company for a few hours? I can rough him up some."

"No," Mickey said quickly, itching at the side of his head with the barrel of his gun. "No. I'll stay with him. I got shit under control."

"Alright, man," Iggy said. "I'll keep you posted if anything changes."

"Alright, bye," Mickey said before abruptly ending the call. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and focused his attention back on Ian. "Frank knows about you. He has until Wednesday to come up with the money."

"Two days, huh," Ian said with a soft, sarcastic bubble of laughter, already knowing deep down that Frank would never be able to come up with that kind of money. . .and also knowing that he most likely wasn't even going to try.

Mickey looked away, not liking the look on Ian's face. Fuck, when did he become so fucking soft? He hated it. What the fuck was it about this guy that made him give a shit, even just a little?

"You gonna eat?" he asked again, his eyebrows arching.

"I told you. . .I'm not hungry."

"Fine. I'm not gonna fucking beg you to eat."

"Good, then don't."

Mickey shook his head in irritation. "Stubborn fuck," he grumbled.

"I do gotta piss though," Ian said. "I've been holding it for hours now and it fucking hurts."

"Well, I'm not fucking holding your dick for you," Mickey spat as he walked behind Ian and reluctantly untied him. "Remember, try anything stupid and I won't hesitate to shoot you."

Once Ian's hands were released, he brought them around to inspect them and rubbed at the sore red welts that encircled his wrists.

Mickey stared down at the offensive red marks and swallowed thickly. He then watched as Ian stood up unsteadily on wobbly legs, looking like a young colt just beginning to learn how to walk.

"There's a, uh, bucket right over there," Mickey said gruffly, pointing to the gray bucket in the corner. "You can piss in that."

"God forbid if I gotta poop," Ian muttered, which earned him a bemused look behind his back from Mickey. He took the bucket across the room for privacy and emptied his bladder. "Christ, this feels so fucking good. I've never had to piss so bad in my life."

Mickey rocked back and forth in place for a minute, uncomfortable with the fact that Ian's dick was out just a few feet away from him. He snuck a sideways glance in Ian's direction before looking away quickly. "Can you not fucking moan while you do that? Fuck!" he said irritably before walking back to the window.

Once Ian was finished, he walked back to the chair and sat down. "I'm done. You can tie me up now."

Mickey looked at Ian over his shoulder and then sighed heavily in spite of himself. "Look, you don't have to fucking be tied up again just yet. Walk and stretch or whatever. I'll tie you back up later. Just remember, don't do anything fucking stupid."

"Yeah, you said that already," Ian said before smiling the very faintest of smiles, "but thanks."

"Don't thank me," Mickey retorted. "As soon as one of my brothers pull up, I'll have to tie your ass back up."

"Right. . .wouldn't want anyone to think you've gone soft," Ian said.

"Don't get cute. Soft is the last thing I am," Mickey snapped. He then realized those were a bad choice of words and clamped his mouth shut.

Ian smirked and walked over to the cooler to grab a sandwich.

"I thought you said you weren't hungry."

"I lied."

"Asshole," Mickey mumbled under his breath, wondering why the small smile Ian gave him just as he looked away burned into his vision.


	4. Bunched Panties

Ian sat on the dirty concrete floor, thankful to be able to at least get to stretch his legs out. He was sitting back against a column in the middle of the space and was mindlessly throwing chunks of concrete across the room, causing the sounds to echo throughout the large room.

Meanwhile, Mickey was standing at the window as he had been for the past forty-five minutes, not saying anything. . .just waiting. "Do you fucking mind?" he finally erupted. "You're giving me a goddamn headache with that shit."

"Well, I'm bored. Got shit else to do. You could've at least brought magazines or something," Ian said, tossing another rock that made Mickey cringe. "You know, something to pass the time, maybe?"

Mickey turned around slowly, looking at Ian in annoyance, his eyebrows raised. "This ain't fucking leisure time, asshole," he said. "You're lucky your hands are even untied." He sighed irritably, then walked towards Ian and sat down next to him, but not too close. He bent his legs and lazily draped his wrists over his knees, his gun still in hand.

Ian bit his lower lip and snuck a sideways glance at Mickey. "Would it be too much to ask for you to allow me to call my sister Fiona?"

Mickey slowly turned his head and looked at him incredulously. "Are you fucking joking? Yeah, sure, here! Call your fucking sister so you can tell her everything."

"I won't tell her where I am or who I'm with, I swear."

"Forget it, I Love Lucy. No can fucking do."

"I love Lucy? Really?" Ian asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Fuck off," Mickey said, unable to stop the amused smirk from tugging at the corner of his mouth. He quickly reeled that shit back in. The last thing he needed to do right now was fall victim to this asshole's charm.

"I just don't want her to worry," Ian continued, unaware of Mickey's inner struggle. "She has enough shit to deal with right now as it is, she doesn't need to worry about this, about me."

Mickey just eyed him wearily, wondering why he was even considering this completely ridiculous request. "Jesus, fine. . .one phone call, and I'm only giving you two minutes, so make it quick. And if you so much as say anything—"

"Relax, I won't," Ian interrupted. He then watched as Mickey reached into his pocket hesitantly and handed him the cheap flip phone.

"Make it quick, asshole, and don't use up all my minutes."

Ian opened the phone and frowned down at it. "How do I even use this thing? It's fucking ancient."

"Fuck off."

"Was this the first phone ever invented?"

"Are you going to fucking use it or not, dickhead?"

Ian laughed a little as he dialed the familiar number. On the third ring, Debbie picked up and Ian immediately slumped, his emotions running in overdrive. "Debs?"

"Ian! Hey, where are you?"

Ian snuck a tentative look at a Mickey, who had a watchful eye on him. "Uh, I stayed over a friend's house," he said. "Is Fiona there?"

"Yeah, hold on!" Debbie exclaimed. Thirty seconds passed, in which Mickey gave him the wrap-it-up signal, and then Fiona was on the line, sounding breathless. "Hello?"

"Fi," Ian breathed out. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. "Fi, I just wanted to let you know I'm okay. I won't be around for a few days, and I can't really say why right now, but I'm alright, okay? Don't worry about me."

Mickey watched him, a little in awe at the affection in which Ian spoke to his sister. He knew vaguely of the Gallagher family; how they were just as fucked up as his own most of the time, but they seemed to genuinely care about each other, unlike his own.

"Well, why can't you tell me where you are?" Fiona asked, before screaming at Carl in the background.

"I just can't, okay?" Ian said. "I just wanted to call and tell you not to worry."

"Okay," Fiona said slowly. "Well, I'll see you in a couple days, then?"

Ian nodded against the phone, his eyes brimming with tears. "Yeah. Two days," he said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible for Fiona's benefit.

"Okay, I trust you. Be careful. Love ya."

"Love you, too," Ian said before skimming his thumb over the END button. He handed the phone back to Mickey. "Thanks."

"Yeah, okay," Mickey said simply. His fingers brushed against Ian's and he quickly pulled his hand away.

The sound of a car door slamming echoed from outside and—after a moment of stupefied hesitation—both boys quickly shot to their feet and scrambled to the chair.

"Fuck!" Mickey cursed as he busily tried to retie Ian's hands with fumbling fingers before his brothers could walk in. If they knew he had let Ian free _and_ let him use his fucking phone, he'd have a lot of fucking explaining to do. Luckily—just as Iggy and Colin appeared—Ian was right as they had left him.

"What's up, assholes." Colin walked right over to Ian and gripped his chin roughly. He tilted Ian's head back and inspected the red fingermarks around his neck. "Nice," he said with a nod of approval. He then brought his hand back and slapped Ian hard across the face for good measure.

"Aye, man, what the fuck!" Mickey exclaimed, taking a defensive step forward before stopping abruptly.

Colin looked at Mickey over his shoulder with an arched brow. "Got a fucking problem?"

Mickey rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth as his eyes fell on Ian, who was grimacing in pain, his lower lip split open. "I roughed him up enough last night, man. Fucking chill!"

"There's no such thing as too roughed up."

"Look, this shit is with his fucking dad, alright?" Mickey exclaimed. "As long as he's doing what he's told, we don't touch him, got it?"

"Who the fuck put you in charge?"

"Just fucking step away from the kid, asshat."

"Why the fuck do you care?" Colin asked. "You're usually all for roughing someone up. What the fuck gives?"

"He's just a kid, man," Mickey reasoned, wishing Colin would just drop it.

"Fucking pussy," Colin muttered under his breath.

Iggy stepped forward, trying to break the tension. "Still nothing from Frank, but we wanted to stop by and drop off some food for you and we brought you a blanket. Temps are supposed to drop tonight."

"I personally couldn't fucking care less if you had a blanket, but shithead here insisted," Colin explained haughtily as he lit a cigarette.

Mickey took the blanket and bag of food from Iggy with a grumbled '_thanks_'.

"You're not feeding the fag, are you?" Colin asked. "He don't get to eat, not until we get our money."

"Chill the fuck out," Mickey spat. "I have this under control, alright."

Colin gave Mickey a hard look before scoffing in disgust and leaving.

Iggy looked back and forth between Mickey and Ian. "You sure you're good here, man?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Mickey said, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip, his eyes downcast.

"Don't mind Colin," Iggy explained. "He found out his bitch been banging that Mexican down the street."

"Fuck Colin."

"I'll see ya, man," Iggy said before turning and leaving.

Mickey stood in place until he heard the echoing sounds of two doors shutting and an engine revving. He turned to look at Ian once he heard tires peeling, finding Ian's head hung and blood dripping onto the front of his coat. "Jesus, Gallagher," he grumbled before going over to him.

"Aye," Mickey said, placing his hand idly on Ian's shoulder. "You alright, man?"

"Don't touch me," Ian muttered, shaking Mickey's hand away.

Mickey retracted his hand as if he had touched fire. He didn't know what to do, what to say, or how to act. "At least let me help you clean it up, fuck. You're getting blood all over the goddamn place."

"Leave me alone," Ian mumbled.

Mickey walked over to where the cooler was and grabbed a used paper towel. He dabbed it into the melted ice in the cooler and then walked over to Ian. "Here, let me fucking help," he said, awkwardly gripping Ian by the chin and tilting his head back. He dabbed the wet paper towel against Ian's split lip and wiped the blood away. Against his better judgment, he lifted his eyes to meet Ian's and his hand stilled.

Ian's eyes were red-rimmed and sad as he stared back up at Mickey.

Mickey's chest tightened inexplicably and he removed his hand from Ian's chin. He turned his back to him and cleared his throat. He then shuffled a little apprehensively before walking around Ian and untying the lazy knots. "There. You can, uh, you can clean it up yourself."

Ian took the paper towel that Mickey handed him and gingerly wiped at the cut. "That brother of yours is a fucking prick," he grumbled after a long, awkward silence.

Mickey didn't say anything, because he knew it was true.

* * *

A few hours later, Ian and Mickey sat side by side on the floor against the wall—still not too close—and stared straight ahead, neither of them saying anything for a long time.

Ian was the first to finally speak, of course. "You know what the fucked up thing about all this is?" he said, his voice low and throaty. "Frank's not even my real father."

Mickey, his head still pressed back against the wall, lazily turned his gaze to look at Ian.

"I called him my sperm donor last night, but he's not even my real dad. That's some fucked up shit, ain't it?" Ian said with a dry laugh. "I'm being held for ransom, and he's not even my real fucking father! He don't care about his real kids, why the fuck would he give a shit about me?"

Mickey watched as Ian laughed, not knowing how to react to this bit of information.

Seemed like this kid's luck was almost as bad as his own.

Ian's laughter subsided after a half dozen seconds and then he settled into an uncomfortable silence, his fingers nervously picking at a thread on his coat. "I guess you know a thing or two about fucked up dads, huh?"

"I don't want to fucking talk about my dad right now," Mickey warned. "Especially with you."

Ian looked over at him, watching as the pinks and oranges from the sunset outside shone in through the windows and brushed across Mickey's face. He had a very brief, very passing thought that Mickey Milkovich was actually kind of fucking beautiful. "What kind of dad has his own kids kidnap someone and hold them at gunpoint? And I thought Frank was fucked."

"Look, don't act like you know a thing or two about my dad," Mickey snapped, his voice echoing. He then took in the startled look on Ian's face before continuing. "You wouldn't understand my family, so don't act like you fucking do."

"Well, considering my current situation, I think I got a pretty firm grasp on the dynamics of the Milkovich family."

"Fuck off."

Ian shrugged deeper into his coat and bit the collar to steady his chattering teeth.

Mickey snuck a sideways glance at him. He hated himself for even asking, "You fucking cold or something?"

"Well, it _is_ the middle of October and this place isn't insulated for shit. This coat is actually a hand-me-down from Lip...he's my older brother." Ian then paused to glance down at his coat. "It's got, like, a dozen holes in it and doesn't keep me warm for shit."

"A simple yes would have sufficed, Jesus," Mickey snorted. He then reached over with a grunt and grabbed the threadbare blanket his brothers had dropped off and tossed it onto Ian's lap. "There. Now maybe your fucking teeth will stop chattering so I don't have to fucking hear it all night."

Ian reluctantly took the blanket and draped it over himself. "Well, aren't you cold?"

"I can handle it. I'm not a fucking pussy."

"Right. Forgot," Ian said as he snuggled into the blanket, feeling a little bit better. He snuck a furtive glance at Mickey, watching as the brunette brought a cigarette to his lips, lit it and took a long drag. "Can I get a hit?"

"The fuck? Now you want to fucking share cigarettes?" Mickey asked, his breath billowing out in puffs. He reluctantly handed the cigarette over with a smirk. "Don't get your fucking saliva all over it."

"I promise, I don't have cooties."

Mickey watched Ian's soft, pink lips as he took a hit from the cigarette and he forced himself to look away. When Ian handed him back the smoke, he took it without looking and brought it to his mouth. "Fuck, man, you slobbered all over it!" he exclaimed, waving his arms around dramatically.

Ian let out an actual real laugh and rested his head back against the wall.

"Dipshit," Mickey muttered around his cigarette, even though he wasn't really that mad.

"So," Ian continued after his laughter subsided, "how come I don't see you around school anymore? You coming back?"

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Mickey asked, looking clearly uncomfortable with the invasive question.

"Well, I haven't seen you around school lately. Just wondering if you were ever coming back, s'all."

"Well, you ask too many fucking questions."

"Just curious."

"No, I'm not going back to school," Mickey retorted flatly. "I'm fucked for life either way, so what's it matter."

"Is your entire future going to consist fully of crime then or what?"

"Fuck you. Why do you always have to ruin everything by opening your stupid fucking mouth?"

"It was just a question."

"Well, mind your fucking business."

"Look, all I'm saying is that there's more to life than this, taking care of your dad's dirty work."

"What the fuck did I just say about talking about my dad?"

Ian watched as Mickey took a long drag from his cigarette, his hand slightly unsteady. "I just think it's sad, that's all. If someone like me can grow up in this fucked up neighborhood and still get out, I don't see why you can't."

"Well, good for you. You want a motherfucking cookie?" Mickey snapped. He then looked at Ian disdainfully. After a long pause, he asked wearily, "What do you mean, you got out?"

"I'm planning on going to West Point next year," Ian explained with a shrug, taking the proffered cigarette.

"Army?

"Uh huh," Ian said, inhaling the cigarette. On his exhale, he continued, "Determined, actually. I've been working on my grades and training really hard every day after school. I wanna be an officer."

"You wanna be an officer, huh? Don't officers usually get shot first?" Mickey asked with a smirk.

Ian smirked right back as he handed the cigarette out to him.

Mickey looked away, running a hand down his face. "Well, whoopty-fucking-doo for you," he said, wondering why he was being so antagonistic. "Some of us are fucked for life, no matter what we do. Some of us don't get to live in fantasyland. We know what life presents us and we don't try to change it because there's no fucking use."

"But—"

"Just fucking drop it, Gallagher," Mickey snapped. "What the fuck do you think this is, the fucking Dr. Phil show? You're lucky I'm even letting you live right now, let alone sharing my cigarettes and blankets with you, so just cut the sentimental bullshit and drop it. You don't know me, I sure as hell don't know you, so let's fucking keep it that way."

Ian lifted his eyes and watched as Mickey stood up, stomped out his cigarette, and walked back to the window. "Don't get your fucking panties in a bunch, Jesus," he muttered into the blanket.

Mickey replied by shooting him the finger over his shoulder.


	5. Bruised, Battered & a Boner

Once the sun set and cast the space in darkness, Mickey turned on the three flashlights they had and stood them up so that the area around them was illuminated, leaving the corners of the room in shadows.

"Fucking creepy," Ian said as he huddled deeper into his coat and looked around.

After their earlier argument, Mickey had resumed his place at the window for almost two hours; chain smoking cigarette after cigarette, not even bothering to pay Ian any attention.

Ian had drifted in and out of restless sleep before eventually declaring that he was hungry.

Mickey had replied with a monosyllabic grunt and grabbed sandwiches from the cooler and had worked the flashlights, and now they sat Indian-styled facing each other with their respective ham and cheese sandwiches in front of them.

Ian ate his bland sandwich in silence, stealing weary glances at Mickey every so often.

"Do you mind not chewing like a fucking cow?" Mickey asked as he chewed his own sandwich.

Ian swallowed hard, earning a disapproving look from Mickey for the offensive sound. "Sorry."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're fucking irritating?" Mickey mumbled.

"Well, you could always let me go and you wouldn't have to deal with me," Ian said with an arched eyebrow.

"Fat fucking chance, gingerbread."

Ian took another bite of his sandwich and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Hey, did you hear about that guy who had the whole left side of his body cut off?"

Mickey looked up at him skeptically with an unamused look, eyebrows arched.

"Yeah, they, um, they say he's all right now," Ian said before a slow grin spread across his face. "Huh? Get it?"

Despite his better judgment, Mickey grinned back and shook his head in reproof. "You're one weird fucking dude, kid."

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood," Ian said with a shrug.

Mickey kept shaking his head as he looked down. When he looked back up, he watched as Ian chewed on his sandwich, his eyes downcast.

For the first time, he actually thought about just letting him go; just saying he escaped during the night or some shit. He knew Ian didn't deserve any of this; but, deep down, he knew that wasn't an option—not as far as his father was concerned.

"Yeah, well, now's not really the time for fucking jokes," he said, intent on keeping his hard demeanor in tact and not letting his guard down.

"Yeah," Ian said softly as he finished his last bite of sandwich. He then stood up and dusted his hands off.

"Fuck're you going?"

"To take a piss," Ian said. "Do I have your permission?"

"Fuck, whatever, go do your fucking business." Mickey finished his own sandwich and then relaxed back against the wall as Ian did his business in the corner. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to allow Ian to see his teeth chattering. _Fuck, why was it so fucking cold?_

Ian finished pissing and walked over to sit next to Mickey. He pulled the blanket up around him and then looked at Mickey. "Do you want some of this blanket?" he asked, his cheeks rosy and his breath coming out in puffs.

"Nah, I'm good," Mickey said flatly, even though he was visibly shaking. The last thing he was going to do was share a fucking blanket with the guy. It was bad enough Ian was making lame jokes and smoking his cigarettes and eating his food.

"You sure?" Ian pressed. "It's fucking cold out. You could catch pneumonia."

"Don't fucking worry about me, worry about yourself."

"Mickey, your fucking lips are blue."

"Fuck off."

"Stop being so damn stupid and take some of the goddamn blanket," Ian snapped, moving half of the blanket onto Mickey. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, fuck."

Mickey glared at him pointedly, wanting to argue but also really wanting to get warm. It was about ten degrees outside and he didn't really feel like getting sick. He had enough shit to deal with. As he snuggled under the blanket with Ian, he said, "Anyone ever finds out about this, I'll bury you alive. You got it, Strawberry Shortcake?"

Ian smirked in amusement. "Where do you come up with these nicknames?"

"Fuck you, they're brilliant," Mickey defended, and there went his fucking lip twitching upwards again.

"Uh huh."

Both boys huddled together under the blanket, their bodies close, neither of them caring at the moment how bizarre it felt. With the temperature well below freezing, there was no room for second-guessing.

"Hey," Ian whispered after a long stretch of silence. "You awake?"

Mickey sighed heavily into the darkness. "I am now!"

"I can't sleep."

"What the fuck do you want me to do about it?" Mickey snapped. "Read you a fucking bedtime story?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt."

"Alright," Mickey said sharply, "there once was a stupid fucking redhead who wouldn't shut his mouth. Big, bad thug man busted a cap in his ass. The end."

"Big?" Ian asked in amusement.

"Fuck. Off."

Ian's laughter drifted off. "Thanks for the story. It was riveting."

"Asshole," Mickey grumbled into the blanket.

Ian laughed again and then grew serious. "Hey, so how do you really think this whole thing is going to play out, you know. . .if Frank doesn't get the money?"

A lump formed in Mickey's throat, which he quickly swallowed down, and he waited a long time before he answered. "I don't fucking know, man," he answered honestly. "I never know what to expect from my dad."

"So I should be scared, shouldn't I? If Frank doesn't get the money the day after tomorrow, I'm done for?"

"I can't fucking answer that," Mickey said, wishing Ian would just stop talking and quit making the situation harder than it had to be.

"It just sucks, you know," Ian continued, his voice sounding painfully thoughtful. "I finally think I'm getting out of this shithole and it could all end over this. Over something Frank caused, like he hasn't fucked up my life as it is."

Mickey's eyes slipped closed and he tried to even his breathing. "Your dad will get the money, just shut the fuck up already." He curled his hands into fists, trying to dismount his tension. His ears perked up a minute later when he heard sniffing from beside him. He glanced at Ian through the darkness to find that he was crying. "Are you seriously fucking crying right now?"

"No," Ian snapped even as he sniffed again.

"Christ," Mickey muttered. "Look, nothing will happen to you, alright? You have my fucking word."

"But, what if—"

"Look, I said you have my word, alright? Christ."

Ian sniffed again and then nodded.

"So fucking dramatic," Mickey muttered, resting his head back. He felt Ian's knee press against his and he froze, not knowing how to react. On one hand, he wanted to push Ian away and throw up all his defenses. On the other hand, it felt kind of. . .warm.

He also knew that, against his better judgment, he had meant what he said. He wasn't going to let anything happen to Ian Gallagher. If his own life was fucked and he had nowhere else to go, he would at least do everything he could to make sure the kid could get out of this fucked up town and even more fucked up life.

He could figure out a way to deal with his father if it came down to it.

* * *

The next morning, Mickey lifted his head, his neck stiff and his bladder full. He looked around with crusted eyes and then looked down, finding Ian's head resting against his shoulder. He stared down at Ian for a few seconds before roughly shaking him off. "Enough with the gay shit," he mumbled as he rubbed at his eyes.

Ian lifted his head with a grunt and looked around. He then rubbed at his own bleary eyes and sat forward, letting the blanket fall away from him. "Feels like I haven't slept at all," he grumbled before yawning.

Mickey focused his eyes on Ian's back and then quickly looked away. He stood up and walked to the bucket, relieving himself.

"Any calls from your brothers?" Ian asked hopefully when Mickey was finished.

Mickey checked his phone to find that he had no calls. "No. Fuck!"

Ian's shoulders slumped and then he stood up. "I didn't think so," he said sadly. "Frank only has until tomorrow to come up with the money. He's probably passed out on a fucking bench somewhere, three sheets to the wind."

"You don't know that."

"Trust me, I know Frank."

"You never know, he might love you."

"Like your dad loves you?" Ian said before he could really think it through.

"Aye, fuck you."

"Why do you defend him?" Ian asked sharply. "Honestly, do you see what he's making you do?"

"Ever think maybe I want to do it? That it's my fucking choice?" Mickey asked flatly, lighting a cigarette.

"This can't be all you want for your life, Mickey."

Mickey looked at Ian and laughed around his cigarette, shaking his head. "You're kidding me right now?" On Ian's unamused look, he continued. "Don't sit there and act like you give a shit about my fucking life."

"I see you, Mickey," Ian said, taking a step forward. "I see that there's more to you than this," he exclaimed, sweeping his arms around to motion around them.

Mickey frowned. "Why? Because we spent one fucking day together? Because I shared a blanket and some cigarettes with you? I'd be just as quick to pistol whip you, don't forget that."

Ian smirked and took another step towards him.

"Whoa, _hey_," Mickey said, holding an arm out and keeping Ian at bay. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Ian dropped his arms to his sides and sighed. "I just. . .I feel like I know you, Mickey. I don't know what it is, but I just—"

"You don't fucking know me, so just stop right fucking there," Mickey said, angry now. "You think you know me? You think you see some shining light inside of me, a glimmer of hope? Well, guess what, Gallagher. I'm nothing. I'm shit. This is all I'm ever going to be. I've come to accept that a long fucking time ago, so I don't need some fuckhead like you coming around and spewing all this bullshit, thinking you know shit about me or my life because of a few meaningless conversations. You don't know shit."

"I hear you when you talk, Mickey. I see the way you look at me—"

"The fuck! Are you calling me gay!?"

Ian smirked with a tilt of his head. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I know you don't like doing any of this. I see the sadness in your eyes. I know you want to let me go, but you feel like you can't and. . .and I know that, deep down, you do care about what people think. You—"

Before Mickey could think about what he was doing, his fist connected hard with Ian's jaw, sending him falling to his ass, his face open-mouthed with shock. He leaned over Ian and pointed a finger in his face. "Just shut the fuck up, you hear me?"

Ian stared back in stunned silence, as Mickey walked away from him and back to the window. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He then looked towards the exit with glistening eyes and, without thinking twice about it, he struggled to his feet and made a dash for it.

"The fuck!" Mickey called out before chasing after him.

Ian hurriedly made his way down the stairs, nearly tripping as he did so, but catching himself in time. He was high on adrenaline as he ran and finally made it outside into some sort of grassy field. He ran as fast as his legs could take him, but, somehow, strong arms wrapped around him from behind and he crashed to the ground with a painful grunt, the wind knocked completely out of him.

"Get off me!" he cried out breathlessly as he tried to wrestle the surprisingly strong brunette off of him. All of his ROTC training and hard work was failing him now, when he needed it most. His body was too weak from lack of calories and lack of sleep and, before he knew it, Mickey was straddling him, pinning his hands to the freezing cold ground.

"Why the fuck did you do that!" Mickey yelled in his face. "Why the fuck did you run!"

"Get the fuck off me!" Ian yelled again, his lungs painfully gasping for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks red and freezing from the cold.

"You're a fucking dead man!" Mickey yelled breathlessly as he stared down at him, his face red with anger. Involuntarily, his eyes fell to Ian's lips. "You're fucking dead," he said again, this time with much less conviction as his hold on Ian's wrists loosened slightly.

Ian stopped his struggling and stared up at Mickey in wide-eyed confusion, when he felt something hard pressing against his abdomen.

Mickey stared down at him for a few seconds longer before finally releasing Ian's bruised wrists and getting up. He pulled the gun from the back of his pants and aimed it at Ian. "Get up."

Ian just lied there, still in shock from it all.

"Get the fuck up, now!" Mickey exclaimed. Once Ian struggled to his knees, Mickey grabbed him roughly by the collar of his jacket and tugged him up the rest of the way before pushing him back towards the building. "Don't fucking try running again or I _will _shoot you, you fucking hear me?"

Ian did as he was told and made his way back up to his prison.

"Get in the chair," Mickey ordered, motioning towards the chair with his gun.

Ian reluctantly sat back down in the chair and stared up at Mickey pointedly.

Keeping his gun pressed into Ian's back, he retied his hands the best he could with one hand. "You ruined it for yourself, asshole," he said breathlessly. "No more mister-fucking-nice-guy, you hear me?"

Ian flexed his jaw and watched as Mickey stalked away. "Why don't we talk about how your dick got hard when you were straddling me," he said flatly, done playing nice as well.

Mickey spun around to face him, his face flushing with anger and embarrassment. "The fuck you just say to me?" he asked, advancing on the younger man.

"Go ahead, tough guy, hit me," Ian instigated. "You know you want to. Or do you wanna fuck me? Is that it? You wanna fuck me, Mickey? Or maybe you want _me_ to fuck _you_. I bet that's it. You want my dick in your ass, don't you?"

Mickey slapped him hard across the face, Ian's words digging into him deep. "Fuck you. I'm not a faggot," he spat, his own words shaking with emotion.

Ian spit out the blood that pooled at his lower lip and looked back up at Mickey indignantly. "You want to hit me again, huh? You wanna fag bash? Would that make you feel like a man?"

"I'm fucking warning you, asshole."

"You mad because I see exactly who you are, _what_ you are?"

Mickey aimed the gun at Ian's forehead. "Shut the fuck up right now, or I swear to god I'll put a bullet in your fucking head!"

"Go ahead!" Ian shouted. "Do it. Fucking do it!" He was weeping now, crying harder than he had in a long time. "Do it, you pussy!"

Mickey stared down at Ian, his hand shaking. Slowly, he lowered the gun, trying to wrap his mind around the events of the past five minutes, wondering just how everything had escalated so quickly.

"I'm going to fucking die anyway, so just fucking do it!" Ian yelled, hot tears rolling down his face.

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey hissed, his voice hoarse.

"Just do it!"

"Shut up!" Mickey spat. He didn't even allow his mind to catch up to what he was doing. He bent forward and cupped Ian's face in his hands, pressing his forehead hard against Ian's. "Shut the fuck up," he spat harshly again, their ragged breath mingling.

Ian continued to cry, his eyes squeezed shut tight.

Just then, the sound of car doors opening and shutting brought them both crashing back to reality and Mickey straightened up, wiping angrily at his cheeks, trying to get himself in check before his brothers walked in.

He didn't know what the fuck had just transpired, didn't know why it happened the way it did, but he had felt this strange urge to be close to the other boy, to comfort him. . .to tell him that maybe, deep down, Ian really did see him for what he was. Maybe Ian did recognize that part of himself that he had always tried to keep buried and hidden deep, deep down.

How Ian had fucking managed to figure him out in a matter of a day and a half freaked him the fuck out, and he didn't like it at all.

Colin and Iggy stepped through the threshold and surveyed the scene in front of them.

"Nice," Colin said as he eyed Ian's bruised neck, busted lip, and welted cheek. "Keeping the homo in line, I see. I underestimated you, little brother."

Mickey ran a shaky hand over his mouth. "Is there any fucking news yet? Did Gallagher get back to you or what?"

"Nothing yet," Iggy said with a shrug. "He has until tomorrow morning or," he nodded his head back towards Ian, "we gotta off the kid."

Mickey snuck a quick look back at Ian, seeing that he looked dejected, small and helpless. He then looked back at his brothers. "Look, we gotta fucking talk to him. He's just a kid. There has to be some other way we can go about this."

"No can do," Iggy said with a shrug. "He has his mind set on this one. Frank's been putting shit off for far too long. It's time to pay up or deal with the consequences. You know how it goes."

Mickey shuffled a little and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. "I'm going to go talk to him. Ig, do you mind watching after the fucking ginger while I go?"

"I'll stay," Colin said, cracking his knuckles.

"No fucking way," Mickey said, his eyebrows shooting up. "The kid will be dead by the time I get back."

"Not dead," Colin said, "just a little broken."

"No," Mickey snapped. "Iggy, you stay. . .and don't touch him, alright? He's had enough."

Iggy eyed him wearily. "Why do you care so much, man?"

"I don't," Mickey said defensively. "I just don't want some kid's murder on my hands, neither do you." He then motioned towards Colin. "Let's go." He then snuck a look back at Ian, his chest growing heavy, and followed his oaf of a goddamn brother out the door.

* * *

Mickey walked into the Alibi Room, already knowing that's where he'd find his good old Pops in the middle of the fucking afternoon.

"'Sup, Mickey, where ya been?" Kevin asked from behind the bar, already in the process of pouring Mickey's favorite draft beer.

"I'm not staying," Mickey said, already heading towards his father, who was sitting at his usual table in the back by the pool table, surrounded by his usual lowlife, alcoholic scum friends. "Hey, uh, Pops, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Not now, boy, can't you see I'm fucking busy here."

"It's about Gallagher," Mickey said hurriedly. He was relieved when his father finally stood up and nodded to follow him back by the payphones.

"You hear from Frank?" Terry asked, puffing on his cigar.

"Look, Pops," Mickey began unsteadily, suddenly wondering how he was going to say this. He wasn't usually one to question something his dad ordered, he knew better than that. It was his father's way or no way. "The Gallagher kid, I think we should—I think we should let him go. He's had enough and—and Frank isn't even his real father anyway. Frank doesn't give two shits about the kid, so I think we're going about it the wrong way—"

"Let him go? You've got to be fucking joking, right?" Terry asked, letting out a hearty, sarcastic laugh.

"He's just a stupid kid," Mickey continued. "Why don't we just go after Frank? Kidnap his ass, torture him a little. We can use the blow torch, maybe even cut off some of his fingers?"

"Going after Frank is all well and good, but it doesn't get me my fucking money. I want my money."

"Pops—"

"Are you questioning me, kid?" Terry asked, not in a joking mood anymore. "You're going to do as I say, and you're going to do it right. The Gallagher kid is dead tomorrow morning if I don't have my money. . .and you're going to do it. _You_. End of story."

Mickey stood frozen as his father stalked away, ending the conversation. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

_Fuck._

* * *

Ian opened his eyes, realizing he must have passed out from exhaustion, because Mickey was no longer there. Instead, his scrappy blond brother was sitting in the opposite chair, creepily watching him sleep at gunpoint.

"Oh, hi there."

Ian twisted his aching neck and licked at his split lip. "Where's Mickey?" he asked, his voice coming out hoarse. He needed a fucking drink in the worst way, but didn't really think the gun-toting goon would comply.

"For some reason, he's off trying to save your stupid ass. He went to go talk to our pops. Though it's not going to do much good. If my father wants you dead, you're dead," Iggy said as he lazily twirled the gun around his finger.

"You could always just kill me now, get it over with. Why wait?" Ian asked, keeping a strong demeanor even though he was broken on the inside.

"Can't. . .have to wait for my pop's order."

Ian closed his eyes and hung his head, grumbling.

Iggy eyed him wearily. "So, why does my brother give a shit whether you live or die?"

"How the fuck should I know," Ian spat, done with playing nice. If he was going to die, he sure as hell was going to die while speaking his mind.

Iggy just smirked at him and stood up. He walked to the window and looked outside when they heard the sound of a car pulling up. "Mickey's back." He then turned back around and eyed Ian smugly. "Judging by the look on his face, it doesn't look so good for you."

Ian didn't say anything; he was too weak to argue or care, too weak to think.

Mickey entered the room a few moments later, his eyes immediately landing on Ian, relieved to see that he was exactly how he had left him. He looked at Iggy. "Colin's in the car waiting."

Iggy turned to Ian and saluted him with his gun in hand and then left.

Mickey walked to Ian and stopped a foot away from him. "You good?" he asked oddly, his eyebrows arched.

"If you want to know if he beat the shit out of me, the answer's no," Ian said weakly, refusing to look up.

Mickey began pacing the floor. "I talked to my dad. He's not budging. I'm thinking about going out and looking for Frank my-fucking-self."

"Don't bother, Mickey," Ian murmured dejectedly. "You'll only be wasting your time. It's a lost cause."

Mickey stopped pacing. "It's not a lost cause. We have to do something. I'm going to find Frank and he's going to get you that fucking money."

Ian let out a hard, unamused laugh and finally lifted his head. "Now who's living in fucking fantasyland?"

Mickey chewed on his lower lip as he looked down at him. "I'm going to get you out of this," he said before thinking, "you hear me?"

"Why _do_ you care so much?" Ian asked unyieldingly. "Two days ago, you didn't even know me. Yesterday, you were choking the shit out of me. Two _hours_ ago, you were slapping me in the face and aiming a gun at my head."

"Because you were right, alright?" Mickey spat out. "One of us deserves to get out of this shithole in one piece. It may never be me, but it could be you. As annoying as shit as you are, you deserve to live and to get out. I don't want your death on my fucking hands."

Ian sniffed and looked down at his lap, closing his eyes.

"Look," Mickey began tentatively. "I shouldn't have put my hands on you earlier. I had no right hitting you like that. It won't happen again."

Ian just nodded curtly, still looking down.

Mickey watched him for a few heartbeats before saying, "I'm going to trust you, Gallagher."

Ian lifted his head, giving him a blank stare.

"I'm going to trust you. I don't do that with a lot of people, alright? I'm going to leave you here, tied up and alone, and trust that you won't try to escape. If you escape, my dad _will_ kill me, alright? He'll kill me and then he'll kill you." When Ian didn't answer, he continued. "I'm going to go find Frank."

Ian nodded weakly and dropped his head back down. He closed his eyes and sighed when he felt Mickey's hand land on the crown of his head, lightly squeezing. It was the simplest of gestures, but it still felt comforting in an odd way.

"I'll be back," Mickey assured him before leaving.

Ian just sat there in that chair, not moving, not thinking; just waiting and allowing himself to hope, even just a little bit, against his better judgment.

Maybe Frank would actually act like a father and pull through for him just this once.


	6. Finding Frank

After checking Batty Sheila's, the shantytown under the L, and random bars to no fucking avail, Mickey was coming up empty-handed. He knew he had to get back to Ian soon; not because he didn't trust the kid, but because he didn't want his brothers (or worse—his father) to show up and find that he had left the ginger alone.

He shoved his hands deep inside his coat pockets and huddled against the cold, unrelenting wind. He crossed the street, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a car (making sure to flip the driver off, even though he was fully aware that it was his own fault), and started back in the direction of the abandoned warehouse where Ian was.

He had one more stop to make and he had been _really_ fucking hoping he wouldn't have to go to the Gallagher house looking for Frank. He didn't know how well he'd be able to hold up with all the annoying fucking questions that would undoubtedly follow after having a Milkovich show up at their door.

He didn't know what the fuck to do. For the first time in a really long time, he felt completely helpless and uneasy and he hated that feeling. He knew his dad meant it; if Frank didn't comply by morning, Ian Gallagher was a dead man. . .and Mickey would have to be the one to pull the trigger.

He looked up and stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of a lump on a nearby bench. He walked to get a closer look and then laughed bitterly at the irony of it all. Ian had been fucking right all along. His dad was passed out on a fucking bench somewhere, a bottle of scotch cradled protectively against his chest.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Mickey muttered as he lifted a leg and kicked the heel of his muddy boot sharply into Frank's side. "Get the fuck up, you piece of shit!"

Frank bolted upright, grunting and groaning and then swearing when his precious liquor crashed to the ground, shattering. "Look what you made me do!" he exclaimed, looking up at Mickey with hooded, bloodshot eyes. "What's your problem? I don't have anything you want! Get outta here!"

Mickey gripped Frank up by the wool collar of his coat and pressed their faces together. He almost gagged from the stench coming from the other man—he smelled of booze, body odor, and piss. "I don't want anything from you, asshole," he said through clenched teeth. "What I _need_ you to do is get your drunken ass together and go save your fucking kid!"

Frank's face crumbled in confusion for only a moment before he bent down, searching the ground. "Where'd my scotch go?"

"Did you fucking hear a word I just said?" Mickey yelled, tugging Frank's face back to his. "Ian is in trouble! My dad wants his money, or something bad is going to happen to him. Do you not fucking get that?!"

"Ian?" Frank grumbled, clearly befuddled.

"Yeah, Ian. Your fucking son, remember him?" Mickey snapped, quickly losing his patience, not that he really had any to begin with.

Frank shook his head and frowned. "No. No, he's not my son. He's Clayton's son, not mine."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Mickey muttered in disbelief.

"Get the hell off me!" Frank snapped, shaking out of Mickey's grasp. "Leave me alone, you goddamn hoodlum." He rested back against the bench, already on the verge of passing out again.

Mickey stared down at the man, knowing that Frank was a lost cause. "Fuck you," Mickey hissed and then spat on Frank, spat square in his face, but the older man just groused and went back to sleep. Mickey ran a hand over his face and looked up and down the busy street, not knowing what else the fuck to do.

* * *

When Mickey got back to Ian, he was relieved to find that he was right where he had left him. He knew now, without a doubt, that he could trust him. Ian had passed the test. He walked around Ian and untied his hands, his fingers working delicately on the rope and barely brushing over Ian's bruised wrists.

"Did you find Frank?" Ian asked weakly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I found him," Mickey said monotonously. He then stood in front of Ian and ran a thumb over his bottom lip. "You were right. The fucking lowlife was passed out on a fucking bench, three sheets to the goddamn wind."

Ian nodded knowingly and just sat there, looking as if he had already long since given up. "So, what now?"

Mickey pulled the vacant chair over and sat down in front of Ian, the chair backwards. He studied Ian's face, suddenly shocked by how different he looked from just a few short days ago.

"Was he always like that?"

"You mean a piece of shit? Yeah," Ian said, rubbing tiredly at his eye. "He doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself—never has, never will."

Mickey contemplated his next move for only a fraction of a second before reaching out and squeezing Ian's shoulder twice.

Ian lifted his intense green eyes to Mickey's and they stared at each other, neither of them saying anything for a few long moments.

Mickey was the first to look away and he pulled his hand away quickly. He stood up abruptly and began pacing. "We have to do something. Frank obviously isn't getting the money. What about your sister? Can she get it?"

"No," Ian said, shaking his head adamantly. "No way. I'm not bringing my sister into this. Even if I did, there's no way she'd be able to come up with that kinda cash."

"Well, if we don't get the money, my dad could kill you and then he could go after one of them." Mickey then silently cursed himself for even putting that morbid idea in Ian's head.

Ian's face immediately fell. "Do you really think he'd go after them?"

"Fuck if I know," Mickey said, sounding exhausted as he swiped a hand down his face. "Maybe you should call them. Tell them what's going on and tell them to go somewhere safe. Tell them to keep a low profile for a while, while I figure something out and come up with a plan." He pulled his phone from his pocket and tossed it at Ian.

Ian clumsily caught the phone against his chest and dialed home as Mickey continued pacing. He sighed with emotion when Lip answered the phone. "Lip."

"Ian, where the fuck are you?!"

"Lip, listen to me. I'm in trouble, okay? Frank, he owes someone a shit load of money and they kidnapped me. Frank has until tomorrow morning to pay up or I'm done."

"Kidnapped? Ian, what the fuck! Where the fuck are you?" Lip exclaimed, panic-stricken. "Who kidnapped you?"

"Just listen to me, Lip, alright. You have to take Fiona and the kids and go somewhere safe, okay? Don't go to the cops or anything. We're gonna try and handle this ourselves."

"Who—who the fuck's we?" Lip demanded. "Ian, shit. Just tell me where you are. You're not making any fucking sense right now."

"Just fucking listen to me, Lip!" Ian yelled, not in the mood for the third degree. "Go somewhere safe! Christ, even V and Kev's, anywhere but the house. Just lock yourselves inside and lay low for a few days; no school, no work, nothing. Make sure you have protection, a gun or something. _Don't_ go to the cops, you'll just make things worse. Do you hear me? No cops!"

"Fuck, Ian! What the fuck did you get yourself into?"

"Fucking promise me!"

"Alright, alright! I fucking promise!"

"I'll call you as soon as I know anything else. Don't worry about me," Ian said before hanging up the phone and handing it back to an apprehensive Mickey.

"You think he'll listen to you?"

Ian nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, he'll listen. He won't go to the cops."

Mickey nodded. "Good, 'cause if they go to the cops, my dad will really have it out for them. I gotta handle this myself. I'll think of something."

Ian watched as Mickey continued pacing the floor. "You sure you want to do this?"

"I'm not fucking sure of anything right now, but I'm definitely fucking sure I'm not about to put a bullet in your head," Mickey exclaimed. He then stopped pacing and faced Ian. "We need to get out of here," he said, rubbing at his lower lip. "I have some money on me. We need to get out of town, go a few towns over, and find a motel or some shit and we need to think. We need to get that money somehow and stop this whole fucking thing from snowballing."

"You really want to go against your dad and leave town?" Ian asked, standing up. "Say we leave and by some chance come up with the money, what if he doesn't accept that? Then what?"

"I don't fucking know!" Mickey exclaimed, his expression wild. "I guess that's a fucking hurdle we'll have to jump when we get there, isn't it." He was about to brush past Ian, but was stopped when he felt a hand grab his. He looked down at their connected hands before lifting his eyes slowly to Ian's.

Ian stared into Mickey's eyes and licked at his dry, bruised lips. "Thank you," he said, his voice calm and steady.

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat and finally pulled his hand away. "Don't thank me yet," he said and then brushed past him.


	7. Hotwired & Horny

Without bothering to pack anything up, Mickey and Ian waited until dusk to leave the warehouse. With bated breath and hammering hearts, they huddled through the darkness, both of them secretly afraid to their own degree, waiting for the Milkovich brothers to show up unexpectedly.

Once they were far enough away from the building, they relaxed a little but still kept a watchful eye around them, half-expecting to find the Milkovich brothers or Terry lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.

"So, what now?" Ian asked as they hurriedly made their way down the street. They passed a rowdy bar, having to sidestep a group of drunken patrons who had decided to bring the party out onto the sidewalk.

Mickey took a puff of his smoke before answering on his exhale. "First, we gotta find a fucking car—can't get anywhere without a car." As they were walking, Mickey casually and discreetly tested door handles.

"Find a car?" Ian said before his eyes went wide. "You mean _steal_ a car?" he asked in a shrill, childlike whisper.

"Don't tell me you're going to puss out on me now, Gallagher?" Mickey said, throwing him a sharp disapproving look. "Now's not the time to get bashful. Either you're in, or you're out. It's your fucking ass on the line here."

Ian smirked at him and tilted his chin up. "I'm not a pussy, I've hotwired cars before," he said matter-of-factly. "I just never actually drove away with a car once I hotwired it."

Mickey finally found an old Honda Accord that was left unlocked. "Jackpot. Leaving your fucking car unlocked in the middle of South Side, Chicago. This asshole deserves to have his fucking car stolen."

Ian looked around nervously as Mickey opened the door and slipped inside. "Do you really want to do this right here, now? Out in the open like this? Maybe we can find a car on a side street somewhere, when it's darker out?"

"Gallagher? Shut the fuck up, will ya? We don't have time to waste," Mickey said as he bent down to the wires to work his magic. Sure enough, moments later, the engine roared to life. Mickey let out a proud whoop and slapped the steering wheel. "Benefits of a motherfucking misspent youth! Get in, Red."

"But we. . .you—"

"Get the fuck in."

Ian hurried around to the passenger side as he wildly looked around, but no one seemed suspicious from what he could tell. He then got in and barely had the door shut when Mickey peeled out, leaving a cloud of thick smoke in their wake.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he exclaimed, grabbing his hair wildly and looking out the back window. "We're so screwed if we get caught. So fucking screwed. We just stole a fucking car, Mickey! If we get caught, I can kiss West Point goodbye! Fuck my life, fuck my _life_—"

"Alright, chill the fuck out, Ronald McDonald. We're not gonna get caught."

Once they were a good safe distance away from the scene of the crime, Ian turned back around in his seat and tossed a bewildered look in Mickey's direction as he nervously attached his seatbelt. "Where are we going?"

"I was thinking Cicero," Mickey declared around his cigarette as he kept a watchful eye on the rearview mirror.

Ian watched him, secretly thinking to himself how sexy Mickey Milkovich looked in that moment, all badass and devil-may-care. He quickly squashed those absolutely ridiculous thoughts and grabbed onto the oh-shit-handle above his head as Mickey sped towards their destination.

* * *

After arriving in Cicero a short time later, Mickey and Ian ditched the car on an inconspicuous side street, making sure to quickly wipe off any areas they may have touched. Mickey's fingerprints were definitely in the database, so he couldn't chance it.

They were on a busy stretch of highway and finding a motel was no problem; there were a dozen of them, all awaiting unfaithful married men and hookers alike. Ian and Mickey weren't in the mood to be picky, and they settled on the first rundown motel they stumbled across and sauntered into the lobby, anxious to get out of the cold.

The man behind the counter gave them a disapproving once-over as he chewed on a toothpick.

"I know you're not giving us the fucking stink eye right now," Mickey snapped, eyeing the man disdainfully right back, brows arched in warning. The man was in his mid-fifties; typical beer belly, stained wifebeater tank, and perpetual scowl. "Your motel smells like _literal_ shit and I've already seen two roaches since stepping inside, you really want to fucking look at us like that?"

Ian dropped his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, a small amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Mickey certainly didn't have any people skills.

"We only have one vacancy available; room with a queen-sized bed," the man droned, unperturbed by Mickey's snarky attitude. "Fifty-five for the night, out by eleven AM."

Mickey scoffed, pulled his wallet out from his back pocket, and tossed some wrinkled bills carelessly at the man's chest. "Fifty-five dollars for this shithole, huh? You better have a whore walking around giving out free fucking handy-jays for that fucking price. There's enough money there for two nights, dick breath."

The man smirked, undoubtedly thinking they were just a couple of fags looking for a place to bang. He'd probably seen it all.

"And look at me like that again, I'll break your fucking kneecaps," Mickey spat before pushing his way back outside.

"Um. . .thanks," Ian said awkwardly when the guy slid the key over to him with a smirk. He slowly and stiffly turned and followed Mickey back out into the cold.

Mickey grumbled and stewed in his annoyance as they made their way towards their room.

"Well, that wasn't embarrassing," Ian mumbled.

"Eat a dick."

They reached their room and slipped inside. The room smelled even worse than the lobby. It smelled of come and old food and musk. The floor was brown shag carpet and the blue, flowered bedspread clashed with the dark orange striped curtains.

"Fuck," Mickey said, closing the door behind them. "Can't believe I fucking spent my hard-earned money on this shithole."

"Hard-earned?" Ian asked with a quirked eyebrow, knowing Mickey most likely earned his money in rather unlawful ways.

"Fuck off."

"It's not that bad," Ian said with a shrug as he looked around. "It's better than our previous digs. At least there's a bed here. . .and heat. . .and an actual fucking toilet."

"Leave it to you to see the silver fucking lining."

Ian shrugged again. "Someone has to."

Mickey stared at him, dumbfounded. How Ian could stay even remotely positive in this shitty situation was beyond him.

"Do you mind if I hop in the shower first before we sit down and brainstorm?" Ian asked as he shrugged out of his coat, breaking Mickey from his thoughts. "I haven't showered in days and I can just feel the layer of filth on my skin."

Mickey rubbed at the back of his neck and nodded curtly. "Yeah, sure. The fuck do I care what you do?"

Ian smiled softly in kind and nodded once before pushing away from the wall he had been leaning against and disappearing into the small, dingy bathroom.

Mickey sat down on the bed once he was alone and cracked his knuckles as he looked around disapprovingly, wondering how in the fuck he had gotten himself in this situation. He knew his dad was going to be beyond furious, and he couldn't help but wonder if any of this was going to work out. Who knew, he and Ian might both end up dead after all of this.

The shower turned on in the bathroom and Mickey involuntarily averted his eyes to the bathroom door, seeing that it was cracked open a few inches. He angled his head a little and caught sight of toned and freckled skin. He swallowed hard as his eyes trailed down Ian's bare chest and then down to his abs. A teasing wisp of soft red hair trailed down into the waistline of his boxers. He forced himself to look away, both wanting to give the guy privacy and wanting to forget the fact that he had just been checking out a dude.

He leaned back against the headboard and stretched out his aching legs. He retrieved the TV remote from the end table with a grunt and aimed it at the TV that was bolted to the dresser. Sure enough, there were no cable channels, no porn channels; only the basic channels; so he settled on an old episode of Frasier he'd seen a million times before.

Minutes later, just as Mickey was starting to doze off, Ian exited the bathroom; shirtless and toweling his hair dry.

"It's all yours."

Mickey couldn't help but stare blankly at Ian; at his wet, toned torso. He definitely hadn't expected all of _that_ to be under that bulky coat. His throat suddenly felt unusually dry and he found himself forgetting how to swallow. Before Ian could realize he was being gawked at, he tore his eyes away and stood up. He brushed past Ian, mumbled a grumpy _'thanks'_, and then disappeared into the privacy and safety of the bathroom.

"Just so you know, the water pressure's shit!" Ian called through the closed door.

"Yeah. Got it. Thanks," Mickey called back irritably. He sighed heavily and turned to look at the mirror. He swiped his hand across the fogged glass and stared at his reflection for a few heartbeats, silently chastising himself, before quickly getting undressed, anxious to get clean.

He turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, surprised to find that Ian had actually saved him some hot water. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, allowing the water to cascade over him. It actually felt kind of fucking incredible.

He groaned a little and then ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He soaped up his hand and ran it over his chest and then his stomach and then even lower, until he was gripping his dick and stroking it with the soapy lather. He licked his lips as he fisted his cock, his thumb rounding over the tip, knowing it wasn't going to take much. After all, it had been building up for a couple days now.

He put his fist to his mouth and bit into his hand as he came hard a couple minutes later, his whole body shuddering. After allowing the spray to clean him, he shut off the water and stepped out, making quick work of drying himself off and dressing, and then left the bathroom.

"We'll stop somewhere tomorrow and grab some clothes and toothbrushes and shit. I have a few hundred bucks on me, so that should get us through for a couple days," Mickey said, before looking up to find Ian fast asleep on the bed over the covers. "We—"

He stood frozen in place as he took in the sight before him. Ian was curled on his side in the fetal position, his hand fisted under his chin, his breathing low and steady, his lips slightly parted. Mickey had never seen someone look so peaceful, so innocent, before in his life. He ran a hand over his damp hair and then looked over towards the uncomfortable looking green chair by the window. He knew better than to take the bed with Ian, and sat down in the chair, intent on getting some much-needed sleep.

He didn't want to think too much about the fact that he had spent more time than he cared to admit watching Ian sleep before he finally dozed off.


	8. Breakfast & Brainstorming

Ian snorted and jolted awake, taking a minute to gather his bearings as he looked around the room through bleary eyes. His sleepy gaze fell on Mickey sleeping haphazardly in the uncomfortable-looking chair by the window and he finally allowed himself to relax, letting out an exhale as everything began to piece together in his mind.

Mickey Milkovich was here with him, putting his own life on the line to save _his_. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around that. None of it made any sense.

He watched Mickey for a few more heartbeats, thinking how soft and peaceful and young Mickey looked while he slept, before forcing himself into a sitting position, his muscles aching with the movements. He wiped at his eyes and yawned so wide it cracked his jaw. "Fuck," he mumbled to himself, rubbing at his stubbly jaw.

Mickey began to stir and finally opened his eyes, no doubt in the same incapacitated state Ian had been in just moments ago, trying to place where he was. He then sat forward and rubbed a hand over his face. "'Morning," he grumbled, his voice thick and husky from sleep.

"'Morning," Ian said back. "Sorry I passed out on you last night. I was fucking exhausted."

"It's cool. You don't have to explain shit to me," Mickey said as he stood up, stretched and then walked to the dresser where his phone was. Sure enough, there were eleven missed calls and even more missed texts. He slammed the phone shut and flung it back onto the dresser, his heart hammering in his throat.

Ian was sitting on the edge of the bed, still shirtless and watching him. "So, I take it they've figured out what's going on by now?"

Mickey just grunted and refused to look in Ian's direction while he wasn't wearing a shirt. "I'll deal with them later. Don't worry about it," he grumbled. "Right now, I wanna go get something to fucking eat. I'm starving."

"Me too," Ian said, standing up and stretching his arms high over his head, exposing his taut belly. "I feel like I could eat a fucking horse right now."

Mickey found himself looking at Ian's stomach in spite of his better judgment. "For fuck's sake, can you put a damn shirt on? Nobody wants to see that shit."

Ian froze for a moment with his arms in the air before smiling knowingly. "Sure, Mick," he said as he grabbed his wrinkled green t-shirt from the floor near the bathroom door and slipped it on. It smelled of sweat and dirt and he couldn't wait to get his hands on some new clothes.

"Let's go get something to eat, get some new clothes and shit, then we gotta come back here and come up with a plan," Mickey explained, rubbing tiredly at his eye. "We can't be wasting time here. We'll get this shit done in a couple days and get back as soon as we can. No bullshit."

"Sounds good to me," Ian said with a shrug.

Mickey just shot him a quick perturbed look before heading towards the door.

As luck would have it, they found a diner a few blocks down that was serving a breakfast buffet for 5.99 a person, and they were both in heaven. Food never tasted so good to either of them.

Mickey watched as Ian practically inhaled his food—a heaping pile of scrambled eggs, french toast, sausage, hash browns, bacon, and toast. "Fuck, how can you eat that much and be that fucking skinny."

"I'm not skinny," Ian said as he chewed. "It's all muscle."

Mickey smirked into his coffee mug. "Muscle, my ass," he mumbled.

Ian just smiled at him through a mouthful of food and went back to eating.

"You're fucking gross, you know that?"

"Mhm," Ian replied happily with an exaggerated nod of his head before taking another heaping bite of eggs.

Mickey chuckled into his coffee, forgetting—for just a second—about their fucked up situation. After they ate, they found a Wal-mart right down the block and stocked up on t-shirts, sweatpants, socks, boxers, and all the other necessities.

* * *

Once they made their way back to the motel, they stopped to grab a pizza for dinner at a small pizza joint across from the motel, and then disappeared into their room for the night.

Both quite happily brushed their teeth and changed into their new underwear and clothes and then relaxed on the bed, preparing to brainstorm.

"Okay," Ian said as he leaned back against the headboard. "Where do we come up with ten grand and fast?"

Mickey sighed. "Fuck if I know," he answered. "We could rob a store or some shit."

"Maybe," Ian said uncertainly with narrowed eyes. "That's too risky though. I want to save my life, not spend it in prison."

"Well, do you got any fucking ideas? I don't hear you spitting anything out."

Ian nibbled on his bottom lip. "I do. . .but it's not a very appealing one."

"What the hell are you waiting for, fucking spit it out!"

"Um, well, maybe I could sell my. . .my body," Ian said finally, sneaking a tentative glance in Mickey's direction. "For, you know, sex."

Mickey was quiet for a handful of seconds before saying, "You mean. . .whore yourself out?" His eyebrows shot up.

Ian shrugged as if it were no big deal to suggest such a thing. "Yeah, why not?"

"Why not? You wanna whore yourself out. . .to guys?" Mickey asked, eyebrows still going.

Ian hesitated before answering, already having a sneaking suspicion that Mickey knew about his sexuality. Making out with Kash that first night was a pretty big indicator, Ian guessed. "Yeah," he said simply with a shrug.

"No fucking way," Mickey said quicker than he'd intended to. "No fucking way. You're not whoring yourself out, especially to guys. We'll find another fucking way to make money. Fuck that shit."

"There aren't many options, Mickey," Ian argued. "Look, I could charge five hundred a lay, one hundred for a blowjob. Guys will pay that, especially for someone that looks like me."

"Fucking conceited much?"

Ian tilted his head and smirked.

"So, what? You're willing to fuck, what. . .twenty different guys for money?" Mickey asked, wondering why the thought was so irritating to him.

"If it means saving my life, yeah!"

"No way, we'll find another way."

"Mickey."

"I said we'll find another fucking way. Forget it," Mickey said, standing up and beginning to pace the floor.

Ian's posture softened as realization set in. Mickey cared, in whatever small miniscule amount it was, he cared. "Why're you so against it?" he asked, deciding to yank his chain a little. He liked yanking Mickey Milkovich's chain.

"What?" Mickey asked irritably as he kept pacing.

"Why does it bother you so much? It's an easy way to make money fast, and you wouldn't even have to do anything. I thought you'd be all for it."

"Because."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Because? That's all you got?"

"Because. . .because dudes shouldn't be fucking other dudes, alright? That's fucking why," Mickey snapped. "And I don't want any fucking part in it."

"Oh, I see," Ian said, looking down to pick at a thread on his new t-shirt. "I thought it was maybe _because_—I don't know—you care about who I fuck?"

Mickey stopped his pacing and turned to face him offensively. "What the fuck do you mean by that? Why the fuck would I care about who you bang?"

Ian shrugged as he climbed off the bed and stopped a foot away from Mickey. He suddenly realized just how much taller he was than Mickey. . .and he liked it.

"You're fucking off your chain, you know that," Mickey spat, avoiding Ian's eyes and focusing on his chest, thinking maybe that might be worse. He then slowly lifted his eyes to meet Ian's.

Ian didn't think about what he did next. He reached a hand up and cupped it over Mickey's cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his soft skin. He then leaned in, his lips inching towards Mickey's and, for a split second, he actually thought the other man would tilt his head and kiss him back.

"The fuck!" Mickey exclaimed as he pulled back. He pressed his hands to Ian's chest and pushed him back roughly. "What the fuck is wrong with you!"

"I. . .I don't know, I thought—" Ian stammered, suddenly wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I thought you wanted me to."

"What the fuck makes you think I wanted you to kiss me?!"

Ian just stared back at him, his shoulders slumping.

Mickey turned his back on Ian and paced a few steps before turning back around to face him. "I'm not fucking gay. Let's get that clear right fucking now!"

"I know," Ian said, hanging his head and rubbing at the back of his neck. "I know you're not."

"Whatever you—whatever the fuck you thought was happening here, you're wrong, alright? Fucking dead wrong. I'm not a fag!"

Ian nodded his head again, still avoiding Mickey's eyes. "I got it. I'm sorry."

Just then, Mickey's phone buzzed obnoxiously on the dresser and he walked over to snatch it up. His eyes scanned over the text message and he quickly typed something back. "That was Iggy," he said breathlessly. "I shot him a text telling him we'll have their money for them in a couple days." In the next instant, he took the phone and hurled it hard against the wall, shattering it into pieces.

"What the fuck, Mickey!"

"It was about to die anyway and I don't have the fucking charger," Mickey spat, still avoiding his eyes. "I'll get a new one tomorrow."

Ian sighed. "Mickey, look at me, okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to kiss you. I know you're not gay, alright? And I appreciate everything you're doing for me. I do."

"It was a stupid fucking thing to do." More pacing.

"I know."

"Beyond fucking stupid. You're lucky I don't kick your fucking ass."

Ian sighed, opening his mouth to respond but was cut off.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking, okay! I wasn't. It's just. . .you gave me this look and I thought it meant something else. I don't know!"

Mickey paced a few more steps before whirling around to face Ian. Without saying a word, he stepped forward, leaning up the few inches he had to and pressed his lips against Ian's.

Ian froze against Mickey's lips, his mind racing to keep up. Finally, he melted into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Mickey, holding him up and against him as their tongues slowly devoured each other's mouths. Ian fisted the bottom of Mickey's shirt at the small of his back and groaned deep in his throat, thinking that Mickey tasted even better than he ever expected. He still tasted of syrup and blueberry waffles.

Mickey fisted the front of Ian's blue t-shirt roughly and then smoothed his hand up and cupped the back of Ian's neck as the kiss deepened, their tongues fucking into each other's mouths.

Ian was the first to pull away, finally in need of air, and touched his forehead to Mickey's. "Mick," he whispered breathlessly.

After a few heartbeats, Mickey seemed to melt away from him. Then, in the next instant, he was walking away and he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ian stared at the spot where Mickey had just been standing, his heart thumping miserably somewhere down in the pit of his stomach.


	9. Jelly-filled & Tongue-tied

Ian laid on the bed over the covers, his left arm bent behind his head, the other draped over his stomach as he stared blankly at the ceiling. It had been almost two hours since Mickey left, and Ian honestly felt he wouldn't see him again. He really couldn't blame him for walking out.

He was so fucking stupid. In what fucking universe would Mickey Milkovich ever want to kiss him? It was just out of the question. Still—the little voice in the back of his head pointed out—Mickey _had_ kissed him back. He definitely hadn't been imagining Mickey's tongue in his mouth or that rough, tattooed hand gripping the back of his neck, holding him just a little closer.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, wondering what the fuck he was going to do now; alone in a weird town with no money, no car, no nothing.

The door to the room opened then and Mickey slipped inside, bringing the cold in with him, keeping his head down.

Ian froze and stared at Mickey's back as he held his breath.

Mickey closed the door and then turned around, looking up and freezing when he saw Ian lying there watching him. He quickly averted his eyes. "I thought you'd be sleeping," he mumbled grumpily.

"I thought you weren't coming back," Ian said back unevenly.

"Whatever, I'm fucking here," Mickey said, making his way to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Ian stared up at the ceiling, bitter tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He suddenly realized he hadn't just been scared about the fact that Mickey might have left; he felt stupid and humiliated that the other man didn't seem to feel quite the same way he did. He realized he probably just fucked up whatever type of friendship they had been forming. When he heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, he rolled over onto his side and tucked his knees up, anxious to get lost in sleep.

When Mickey finally exited the bathroom nearly twenty minutes later, he found Ian curled up on the bed, facing the wall, soft snores falling from his mouth. He relaxed and tossed his dirty clothes in the corner. He walked over to the fucking green chair from hell and sat down.

"You don't have to sleep on the chair, you know," Ian said, his voice soft and almost inaudible.

"I'm fine," Mickey said flatly as he tried to get comfortable.

"I promise I won't try to kiss you again."

"Don't worry about me. Go the fuck to sleep."

Ian rolled over onto his back and looked over at Mickey. He then sat up with a sigh. "Alright, look. I kissed you. I misread the situation, I fucked up, I apologized, now get the fuck over it and move on. If you can't accept it, then just fucking go."

"Fuck you," Mickey shot back bitingly. "You're lucky I don't kick your fucking ass for pulling that shit on me."

"Oh, please," Ian said, shaking his head and running a hand over his hair. "You can deny it all you want, Mickey, but that second time. . .that second time, _you_ kissed me."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Mickey said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Ian retorted, lying back down and turning to face the wall again. "Sleep in that fucking chair for all I care. I hope you get a fucking neck cramp."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, well. . .fuck you too."

"Fuck off."

"Go to hell!"

"I'm already fucking there!" Mickey yelled back, causing their neighbor in the next room to pound on the wall. "And fuck you too!"

Ian huffed and hardened his jaw as he stared at the wall, smarting from his anger. After a while, he felt the bed dip and he froze. He rolled over onto his back with held breath and suddenly found that Mickey was hovering over him.

Mickey's eyes swept over Ian's face before he said softly, "I'm not fucking gay."

"Okay," Ian whispered, his voice thick and his heart hammering in his throat.

"I'm not," Mickey said just before leaning down and pressing his mouth softly against Ian's.

Ian kissed him back hesitantly and then turned fully and swept out his arm, causing Mickey's arm to buckle so that he fell on top of Ian with a grunt. Ian smiled and laughed against Mickey's lips.

"You're a dick," Mickey murmured before continuing the slow, languid kiss.

Ian gripped the back of Mickey's head and dug his fingers into his hair as the kiss deepened, both of them tentatively exploring each other's mouths slowly and thoroughly.

Mickey pulled back a few inches and stared down at Ian. "Just for tonight," he murmured. "You hear me? After tonight, it's not happening again."

Ian swallowed hard and nodded, knowing he wanted Mickey for more than just one night—wanted all of him—but decided not to push the issue. When Mickey leaned back down to continue the lazy kissing, Ian happily complied.

* * *

The next morning, Ian awoke to find that he was alone in bed. He sat up and stretched his arms high above his head and then smiled to himself. The events from the night before, the kissing that went on and on until they finally gave up and fell asleep, flooded his mind.

The smile then slipped from his face when he remembered that Mickey had made it very clear that it was a one night thing—and he had a feeling that when Mickey Milkovich said something, he meant it.

He got out of bed and scratched at his balls as he made his way to the bathroom to relieve his bladder.

The door to the room opened and Mickey sauntered inside, closing the door behind him. He shivered and shook out of his coat, looking up when Ian came out of the bathroom. "Aye. I paid for the room for two more nights," he explained while avoiding eye contact. "I have about two hundred dollars left on me, which won't last, so we better think of something quick."

Ian nodded and took the coffee Mickey offered him. "Thanks," he grumbled, wanting to broach the topic of the events from night before, but deciding against it. If Mickey wanted to bring it up, Mickey would bring it up. The ball was in his court.

"I got a new phone," Mickey continued, dropping the phone on the bed. "If you want to, uh, call your sister or whatever, go ahead. Just be vague on details. We don't need anyone knowing where we are right now."

Ian nodded and stared down at the phone. "Cool."

Mickey finally looked in Ian's direction and rubbed a thumb over his lower lip, trying to think of something to say. "Look, man, about last night."

Ian looked up hopefully, but then deflated immediately when he saw the look on Mickey's face.

"It's just—"

"I know," Ian interrupted, nodding curtly. "It was a one time thing." He lifted his stare and locked eyes with Mickey's. "It's cool."

Mickey nodded and tore his eyes away. "Right. Okay. Well, uh, I got donuts," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a bunch; jelly-filled, sugared, some fucking weird maple thing—"

"So, it _was_ just for one night, right? Just so we are on the same page?" Ian said, interrupting him. "Because, I mean, we kissed for almost half an hour last night and it. . .it kinda felt like maybe you didn't want to stop."

Mickey looked at Ian and then sighed as he rubbed at his jaw. "Look, man, I don't know what to tell you, alright? I don't know what the fuck happened last night. It's probably best if we just let it go and focus on all this other stupid shit."

Ian nodded his head and then turned his back to Mickey. "Alright then, got it."

"Hey, man, look," Mickey called out. "I thought you understood."

"No, I do understand," Ian said just before closing the bathroom door. "I'm going to take a shower," he called out before leaning back against the cool wood. He ran a hand over his face and blinked back the tears he knew were threatening to spill. He refused to cry. Not about this. Not over him.

* * *

When Ian came out of the bathroom several minutes later, fully composed, Mickey looked up from the TV.

"Aye, you cool?" Mickey drawled.

"Yeah, man, all cool," Ian said simply, intent on acting unfazed by the whole situation. Yeah, it stung that Mickey didn't want him, but he had to get past that. They had much more important things to deal with. He finished towel-drying his hair and tossed the towel onto the ugly green chair. "I'm gonna go for a walk to clear my head and get some air."

Mickey sat up straighter at this news. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Ian smirked as he put his coat on. "What's going to happen to me, Mickey? It's the middle of the afternoon and your father has no idea where I am. I'll be fine."

"Well, when will you be back?"

Ian shot him an unamused look. "Later. You cool?" he drawled sarcastically before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

"Fuck," Mickey mumbled to himself, not liking the fact that Ian was going off by himself, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it. He also realized he was being completely irrational, but he still didn't like it.

* * *

A little over an hour later, Ian returned and Mickey acted as if he couldn't care less that he was back, even though all he did was worry and wonder the entire time he'd been gone.

"Back already?" Mickey asked coolly, not moving from his relaxed position against the headboard.

"Yeah," Ian said as he unwrapped his scarf from his neck.

"Where'd you go?"

"Oh, you know. . .I blew a couple guys, fucked a tranny behind a dumpster. . .the usual."

"You think you're fucking funny, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," Ian retorted as he sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. "Even if I did do that stuff, it'd be none of your business, you know that, right? You made that clear."

"Christ, Gallagher."

Ian stood up and shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"What the fuck are you expecting here exactly?" Mickey said irritably. "You want us to be fucking boyfriend and girlfriend or some shit, 'cause that ain't gonna happen."

Ian whirled around and eyed him coldly. "Fuck you, Mickey," he spat. "I want you to fucking admit to me, just this once, that you feel something for me. That last night wasn't just some fucked up, random, one night hookup. That when we kissed, you felt something."

Mickey scoffed at this.

Ian stared back at him pointedly. "Admit that whatever this fucked up connection is I feel towards you, you feel it too."

Mickey stared back at him and then looked away with an aggravated sigh.

"That I'm not just fucking imagining this. Because, for the life of me, I can't fucking think of one good reason why you would put yourself at risk, give up everything, go against your dad. . .just to make sure that I don't die. It doesn't make any sense!"

"Yes, alright, Jesus!" Mickey yelled back, surprising both of them. "I fucking admit it, alright? I felt it too. You fucking happy now? Fuck!"

Ian took in Mickey's words and visibly relaxed.

Mickey just stared back at him, every nerve in his body bristling. "You're the most annoying fucking person I've ever met in my life, you know that?"

"Am I?" Ian asked as he slowly made his way towards the bed.

"So fucking annoying. And you think you're way fucking cuter than you actually are," Mickey said, his voice breaking as he watched Ian kneel onto the bed and start crawling towards him. He knew he should stop him before Ian took things too far, but he couldn't find the proper words.

"So, you're admitting I'm at least a little cute then?"

"Fuck no," Mickey said unconvincingly. "You and your stupid fucking hair and dumbass freckles."

"Oh, okay," Ian said with narrowed eyes and a patronizing nod.

"And," Mickey continued once Ian was straddling him, pushing him back against the headboard. He swallowed visibly as he stared up into Ian's eyes. "Fuck. . .and you chew like a fucking cow. It's gross."

"Uh huh," Ian said as he leaned in and bravely began kissing at Mickey's neck with soft moist lips.

Mickey's eyes fluttered closed against his will. He shyly put his hands on Ian's thighs and bit his lower lip, suppressing a moan that was threatening to bubble from his lips. "You talk way too fucking much," he muttered. "I've never met someone who— _fuck_ —who talks as much as you do."

"You're the one doing all the talking," Ian murmured as he moved to angle his head on the other side of Mickey's neck, nipping and licking at his pulse point.

"Fuck," Mickey moaned, trying to hold onto whatever shred of resistance and dignity he had left, even as he nuzzled his nose a little bit in Ian's hair. "You—you're too goddamn optimistic for your own good. Sometimes it can be downright fucking dis—disgusting."

Ian pulled back and bravely looked Mickey right in the eyes. "Sorry I disgust you." Before he could say anything else, Mickey's hand gripped the back of Ian's head and he pulled him in, their lips crushing together.

"Like hell you disgust me," Mickey murmured against Ian's lips before angling his head and deepening the kiss.


	10. Head Over Heels

Ian laced his fingers with Mickey's as he arched into him as they kissed, their tongues lazily tangling. He wanted to take it further—so much fucking further—but he knew Mickey just enough to know that kissing was about as far as he was willing to take it. He just hoped that wasn't the case for too long. Ian, deciding to be a gentleman, pulled away first and touched his forehead to Mickey's, their breathing ragged.

"We can turn this down a notch, I mean, if you want," Ian said breathlessly. "I know this is probably a lot for you to handle." He pulled back a little, enough to be able to look Mickey in the eyes. "Is this the furthest you've gone before. . .with a guy?"

Mickey forced his eyes away and was clearly very uncomfortable with the question. "There you go ruining things with that fucking mouth of yours, Gallagher."

"Well, I'd like to show you what else my mouth can do," Ian drawled, "I'm just trying to determine if you're ready for it or not." He smiled a little and leaned in for another kiss.

Mickey turned his head, unlocked his hands from Ian's and bucked upwards, motioning for Ian to get off him.

Ian slowly and reluctantly dismounted Mickey, and then sat back against the headboard, watching as Mickey got off the bed and walked to the dresser. He watched as the brunette tapped a cigarette into his palm and then tilted his head to light it.

"Okay," Ian slurred, running a hand over the top of his head. He didn't know how they had gone from sixty to zero in a matter of only seconds. "I'm sorry if I said something to offend you or piss you off."

"Well, you fucking did," Mickey said before taking a slow drag of his smoke. "I told you. I'm not gay."

"Yeah, but see. . .I'm pretty sure that wasn't the TV remote I felt pressing against my leg a couple minutes ago." After seeing the anger registering on Mickey's face, Ian really wished he had the ability to think before speaking.

"Fuck you, asshole," Mickey hissed. "Look, kissing is one thing. What the fuck ever. It's just tongue. Anything involving our dicks is out of the question."

"I don't know. I think kissing is pretty intimate. I don't know a whole lot of straight guys that would kiss another guy willingly."

"Fuck you."

Ian watched Mickey as he walked to the ugly green chair and sat down. "So, you've never been with a guy before? Not one? I'm the first guy you've ever kissed?"

"What part of _I'm not fucking gay_ don't you get, Gallagher? Christ!" Mickey snapped, taking another nervous hit of his cigarette.

"Okay, so. . .you make out with me, your dick gets hard, you grab my ass, but you're not gay? I'm just trying to piece everything together here."

Mickey didn't say anything, just bent forward to grab his shoes, intent on leaving the room to get some space before strangling the stupid fucking redhead with his stupid ass fucking freckles.

"Where are you going?"

"The fuck away from you, that's where."

"You can't just leave every time we have a disagreement."

"The fuck I can't."

"Talk to me, Mick. Make me understand. I don't think I've ever been so fucking confused about anything in my life."

"It was a mistake, alright?" Mickey interrupted coldly, standing up and squaring his shoulders. "It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry I won't touch your dick—or whatever it is you want me to do—but that's just the way it's going to fucking be. Got it?"

Ian shot out of bed just as Mickey turned to open the door, letting in a rush of cold air. He pressed himself against Mickey's back and reached around him, slamming the door shut. "Don't go," he whispered against the nape of Mickey's neck.

"Back the _fuck_ off, Gallagher."

"It's okay to be confused, Mickey. I get it. For a long time, I didn't want to acknowledge it either." Ian gasped in surprise when Mickey turned around suddenly and shoved him hard, causing him to stumble backwards. His leg hit the corner of the bed and he fell at an awkward angle, his hip connecting hard with the floor. "Ah, fuck!" he cried out in pain.

Mickey stared down at Ian, his fists clenching and unclenching, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Ian grabbed onto the bed for support and stood up long enough to sit down on the bed, all the while wincing in pain. "What the fuck, Mickey! First you're shoving your tongue down my throat, telling me how much I _don't_ disgust you, and the next minute you're trying to kick my ass!"

Mickey watched him for a few more heartbeats before turning around and leaving the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Ian stared at the closed door before falling backwards on the mattress. He ran his hands over his face and groaned. Mickey Milkovich was one twisted and confused fucking individual.

* * *

A little over an hour later, Mickey returned to the room to find Ian in bed watching a late night talk show with the lights off, the rough blanket pulled up to his chin.

"Where'd you go?" Ian asked, his voice sounding small under the blankets.

"Don't fucking worry about it."

"I didn't think you were coming back."

"I shouldn't have. I should have left your ass here to fend for yourself."

"So, this is how it's going to be, huh?" Ian asked. "Back to square one, like nothing even happened?"

"As far as I'm concerned, nothing did happen," Mickey snapped as he took off his coat and tossed it aside.

"Oh, okay."

"Look, let's get a few things straight here, alright," Mickey said, his tone flat. "What happened in this room is _never_ going to happen again. It was a moment of fucking stupidity on my part. We're here for one reason and one reason only, to save your stupid ass from getting dead. Nothing else. When this is all over, we're both going to go on our own separate fucking ways, and that'll be the end of it. I'm not gay. I've never been with another guy before, and there's a fucking reason for that. So just fucking drop it."

Ian watched heavy-heartedly as Mickey sat down in the green chair, ending the conversation. He had already decided, even though he wanted more from Mickey, that he was going to do whatever Mickey wanted. If Mickey wanted to pretend nothing happened, that there wasn't this weird, gravitational pull between them, then he had no choice but to go along with it.

Mickey curled up as best he could on the green chair and prepared himself for a long, restless night. But he sure as hell wasn't sleeping in bed with Ian. He was intent on getting this thing over with and forgetting Ian Gallagher ever existed. He had taken his head out of the game, had gotten himself mixed up in same crazy, fucked up emotions, and he had to make things right before everything completely fucking derailed.

Ian sat up and leaned over to turn the small lamp on, flooding the room with light.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Mickey groaned, his eyes rolling to the ceiling.

"Oh, relax," Ian said irritably. "If you don't want to mention the kissing and ass grabbing again, fine. It won't be brought up again. Trust me, I won't lose any sleep over it."

Mickey shot Ian a dark look before quickly looking away.

"I wanted to talk to you about this idea I had. . .about getting the money."

"You have an idea? One that doesn't involve guys sticking their dicks in your ass?"

"Yeah," Ian said, shrugging a bare shoulder. "While you were out, I was thinking of ways we could make money. I mean, that is why we're here, right?"

"Of course it fucking is," Mickey snapped as he uncurled from his awkward position and sat up. "Well, spit it out, asshole. What's your idea?"

"Well, you know how I suggested prostituting myself?"

"Yeah," Mickey said warily, his eyebrows shooting upwards, not liking where this conversation was headed.

"Well, what if I didn't sell my body, per se? What if I just did a little baiting?"

"Baiting? What the fuck is that?"

"Yeah, baiting," Ian said, sitting forward a little more, getting excited about his idea. "What if we scope out bars and clubs for men, _rich_ married men. I can, you know, work my magic on them and lure them back to the room, back here."

"Yeah, 'cause that sounds fucking safe," Mickey spat. _Since when did he care about safe? _

Ian smirked. "You can wait in the closet or something, ready to pounce. I'll get things going and, once things get hot and heavy, you can jump out, snap a picture, and we can blackmail the assholes into giving us money."

Mickey took in this information. On one hand, it seemed like a decent enough plan that could actually work. On the other hand—the hand he wanted to completely fucking forget about—the thought of Ian flirting with and luring strange guys didn't sit too well with him. But, really, what other choice did they have? They didn't have many options, and they had already been gone too long as it was.

Ian watched him, waiting. "Well?"

"I'll think about it."

"What's to think about?!" Ian exclaimed. "It's a perfect fucking plan and you know it!"

"And what if something goes wrong, dipshit?"

"What could go wrong? You'll be there to make sure everything goes smooth. And, besides, if someone tries to pull anything funny, I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

"Right. I forgot. . .'cause you're so tough."

"Look, this is my ass on the line here, Mickey," Ian said flatly. "I want to do this. I can do this. All it will take is a couple guys. We can have the money in a couple days."

"This isn't just your ass on the line here, Gallagher," Mickey stated. "I'm in this shit too, remember."

Ian locked eyes with Mickey and nodded. "I know."

Mickey tore his eyes away from Ian's intense stare and ran a hand over his face. After a few moments, he finally nodded against his better judgment. "Alright. Okay. We'll do it. Let's get some fucking sleep and we can talk more about it in the morning."

Ian smiled, quite pleased with himself. He laid back down and pulled the blanket back up to his chin. "You know, you can sleep in the bed. I'll keep my hands and dick to myself, I promise."

"Eat me."

Ian bit back a sarcastic comment, not wanting to go there right now with a sexual innuendo. Instead, he said, "You can't sleep in that chair, Mickey. Just get in the damn bed. Hell, sleep with your head at the bottom if you want to."

Mickey sat and stewed stubbornly for a few minutes before finally standing up. "Alright, fine. But I better not feel anything go near my ass."

"I wouldn't dream of going anywhere near your ass."

Mickey crawled into the bed, his head at the bottom and his feet at Ian's head. He remained stiff and still as he tried to get acclimated to the awkward situation. The fact that Ian was half naked and only a few inches away unnerved him.

"Although, I gotta say," Ian said, breaking the awkward silence, "you do have really pretty feet."

Mickey took in the comment and then found himself grinning into the dark in spite of himself. "You're a fucking dick."


	11. Sugar Daddy & Twink

Mickey was the first to stir the next morning. He dug his face into his pillow and groaned, not wanting to get up but knowing they had to get their asses in gear and get back to Canaryville before things snowballed even more out of control.

The bed was pretty fucking comfortable, which was surprising considering how big of a shithole the place was. He'd actually never slept better. He finally lifted his heavy head and glanced back at the clock on the bedside table with one squinted eye, realizing that they had slept for nearly twelve hours. His eyes then averted to the lump under the covers at the other end of the bed that was in the shape of Ian.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his sleepy eyes with the heel of his hand. He then found Ian's sleeping face amidst all the covers and his hand froze. Ian was prettier than any guy had a fucking right to be, and he hated himself for even thinking such things.

He stared for a few seconds longer than necessary before nudging Ian roughly in the hip. "Aye, sleepyface, time to get your ass up." _Sleepyface? Seriously, where _did_ he come up with these fucking names?_

"Mhm, what?" Ian grumbled as he lifted his mussed head, looking around through hooded eyes. "Time is it?"

"Time for you to get your ass up, man," Mickey said as he got out of the bed to head to the bathroom.

Ian reluctantly dragged himself out from under the warm blankets and sat back against the cold headboard as a yawn took over his whole face. He watched as Mickey returned from the bathroom, secretly admiring the fact that Mickey wasn't wearing a shirt. "Are we okay?" he asked, his voice husky from sleep. "I don't want things to be weird. We have enough weird shit to deal with as it is."

"Things aren't fucking weird, alright?" Mickey snapped, harder than he wanted to, but he wanted Ian to drop it. He was dead set on getting shit done and going back to his own life; a life without Ian Gallagher.

"Okay," Ian said, nodding firmly and running a hand over his head. "Well, uh, if we're going to do this thing, I'm going to need some money for clothes."

"The fuck you need clothes for?" Mickey asked as he walked back into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush. "You got clothes yesterday."

Ian smirked. "I can't really seduce guys wearing sweatpants and army boots, Mickey."

Mickey took this in as he lazily brushed his teeth, thinking—against his better judgment, of course—that he didn't see anything wrong with how Ian looked in sweatpants and army boots. He spat in the sink before answering, "Fine. What the fuck ever. I'll get you some clothes."

"Thanks, sugar daddy."

"Fuck off with that shit, copperhead. I ain't no one's sugar daddy, least of all yours."

Ian stood up and stretched his arms high over his head, unaware that Mickey was watching him in the reflection of the mirror. "I might as well head out now and buy a few things so we can get this show on the road; maybe hit up a happy hour at some bar somewhere. I'm sure there'll be some horny, rich men with deep-seated fantasies for teenaged boys stopping for drinks after a rough day at work."

Mickey finished brushing his teeth and wiped at his chin with the back of his hand before joining Ian in the bedroom. "So, you're sure you want to do this?" he asked, still not a hundred percent sold on it. Usually, he was the one coming up with the plans, so he was reluctant as all hell to go along with someone else's.

"Yeah," Ian said nonchalantly as he pulled a black t-shirt down over his head and then sat down to pull on his boots. "I'll pick up a guy, bring him back here, I'll pretend I'm gonna fuck him—"

At this, Mickey turned his back to Ian and ran a hand over his face.

"—and then you'll jump out to take the picture, and we'll blackmail the poor bastard into giving us money. Hell, there's an ATM right outside. It's perfect." Ian grinned, quite proud of himself.

"You have this shit all figured out, don't you?"

"Pretty much," Ian said smugly, crossing his arms.

"Well, what if we don't have anything to blackmail the guy with? What if he doesn't have a family? A wife, kids?"

Ian smirked as he grabbed a few crumpled bills from the table and then his coat. "Please. . .there's always a wife and kids."

Mickey didn't want to think too much about how Ian knew such things. He watched as Ian left through the door, his presence still lingering even after he was gone.

Mickey sighed and ran a hand over his face, yet again wondering what in the hell he'd gotten himself into.

* * *

Ian returned a short time later and went to work in the bathroom; showering, shaving, and doing whatever the hell else he did to prepare for such scandalous events.

Mickey was relaxed on the bed, mindlessly watching an old rerun of COPS. He snorted in wry amusement at the Joe Dirt lookalike's futile attempt at an alibi and suppressed a yawn. He was just about to doze off when Ian finally exited the bathroom.

"About time. You take longer than a fuckin' chick." Mickey looked away from the TV then and stared at Ian, momentarily dumbstruck. Ian was dressed in dark jeans, nice shoes, and a burgundy button-down shirt that hugged him snugly in all the right places. His hair was gelled and combed back slightly, the sides freshly buzzed. In a word, Ian looked in-fucking-credible.

"How do I look?" Ian asked as he held his hand to his chest to attach his watch, completely unaware of the affect he was having on the other man.

"Like a fag," Mickey said thickly, tearing his eyes away and looking back at the TV.

Ian sat down on the bed next to Mickey. "Fuck you, asshole," he said with a laugh.

Mickey caught a whiff of Ian's cologne and he wanted to punch a hole through the fucking wall.

"I'm gonna head out in a few minutes."

"You know I'm coming with you, right?" he said, his eyebrows shooting upwards, daring Ian to argue.

"No, you have to stay here. You have to hide out."

"I'm coming with you, asshole," Mickey said flatly.

"No, you have to be here, Mickey. That's the whole point. I bring the guy here, you jump out and take the picture. Why would you go with me? That makes absolutely no sense."

Mickey carefully chose his next words. "I just don't think it's right that you go to a fucking bar and pick up some random ass dude you don't even know. What if on the way here something goes wrong, huh? Then what?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "I can handle myself just fine, Mickey."

"I hate to break it to you, Gallagher, but you're not as tough as you think you are."

"How would you know how tough I am?" Ian asked, his eyes bright with amusement.

"The other day in the field, remember? I had your scrawny ass pinned in seconds." Before Mickey could think about what was happening, he was flung back against the mattress and Ian was straddling him, pinning his hands down to the mattress.

"Scrawny, huh?" Ian stared down at him, a tiny smug smirk pulling at his lips. "You were saying?"

Mickey licked his lips and then silently berated himself for even having a reaction; a reaction he sure as hell wasn't going to clue Ian in on. He bucked his hips up, taking Ian by surprise and then he flipped over in one fluid motion so that Ian was now the one pinned beneath him. "_You_ were saying?" Like a fucking moron, his eyes landed on Ian's parted lips.

Ian felt the tension loosen in Mickey as he stared down at him, and he took the opportunity to get the upper hand. He bucked up and Mickey was once again on his back within seconds and struggling to get up. They were both panting by this point. "I was easy on you the first couple times, pal."

Mickey struggled, almost getting loose, but then failed. He finally gave up and sighed in irritation. "Okay, tough guy."

Ian smiled down at him for a second longer before finally climbing off him. "See? I can handle myself just fine. I don't need you to come with me."

Mickey sat up, still flustered as he tried to gather his wits. "When will you be back?" he asked nonchalantly as Ian put on his coat.

"I shouldn't be longer than an hour," Ian said. "There's a decent looking bar right down the street. I'll jiggle the handle a bit before I come in so you know when to hide."

"Gallagher—"

"I'll be fine, Mickey," Ian said, smiling softly in reassurance as he opened the door.

Mickey watched him go...and then spent the next hour and sixteen minutes going out of his mind.

* * *

So far, things were going according to plan. Ian had spotted a lonely, slightly-attractive, middle-aged man at the crowded bar and, within only minutes, the guy was throwing fuck-me-eyes in his direction and Ian knew he had him in the bag.

_Man, he was too good_.

Ian seductively slinked past the guy, whispered in his best sexy voice—_'I have a room down the street, if you're interested'_—and he walked away, knowing the guy would be hot on his trail.

Once outside, Ian wasn't quite prepared for the guy to get so feisty so fast, and he found himself being pressed back roughly against the brick wall, surrounded by shadows and out of view from other patrons. The guy's tongue was too heavy and too wet in his mouth, and Ian forced himself to go along with it. He was just glad he had an awesome gag reflex.

"Not here," Ian slurred, pressing against the eager man, trying to seem into it. "Let's go back to my room, it's right down the street."

"How about we just fuck right here, in my car?" the man said, leaning in and licking a long stripe up Ian's cheek. "Hmm?"

Ian resisted the urge to pull away in disgust. "A bed is so much better though. Gives me more room to bend," he said, silently berating himself for being so lame. The guy then reached down and cupped Ian through his jeans. For a second, he was afraid the guy was going to insist they do it right there and then, but thankfully he came around.

"Let's go to your room then, show me how much you can bend."

Ian smiled suggestively before following the man to his car. Once the guy's back was turned, the smile dropped from his face and he rolled his eyes. He then brightened up a little when he saw that the guy drove a pretty expensive car.

_Score_.

* * *

Mickey was pacing back and forth, checking his phone constantly for the time, and was on the verge of going out to find Ian, but froze when he finally (fucking finally!) heard the door handle jiggle. He fled into action and ran to the small linen closet next to the bathroom and pulled the door shut with him, leaving a sliver open so that he could keep an eye on things. He opened his cheap phone and got his camera ready. It wasn't the most high-tech or pixelated camera—as Ian had so teasingly pointed out earlier that day—but it would get the job done.

Ian opened the door and entered, giving it a quick sweep with his eyes, relieved to find Mickey out of sight. "Here we are," he said lustfully, stepping aside to let the man enter. "It's not exactly the Ritz Carlton, but it's—" He was cut off when the guy abruptly grabbed him roughly by the back of his neck and pulled him in for a sloppy, devouring kiss.

The man kissed Ian hungrily, biting too hard at his lips, and then eagerly worked on Ian's button and zipper before shoving a rough calloused hand inside to grope him. "You're a big boy, aren't you? Such a nice cock you got here."

Ian forced a sexy smile even though the man's hand was way too rough and it kinda hurt.

"I'm going to suck you off since you have such a nice cock, and then you're going to fuck my brains out," he said before dropping down to his knees. He pulled Ian's pants down over his hips and immediately took Ian's semi-hard dick in his mouth, skipping right to it.

Just then, the closet door flung open, crashing back against the wall, and a blinding flash went off. "Say cheese, motherfucker!" Mickey said before walking to the shell-shocked man and grabbing him roughly by his thinning hair, pulling him back and away from Ian.

Ian stepped away abruptly and pulled his pants back up, watching as Mickey punched the poor bastard in the face.

The man gasped in pain, holding his bloody nose. "What the hell!"

"Get on the fucking bed," Mickey said, tugging the guy up roughly by his hair.

The man yelped as he complied and sat down as he was told, still holding his broken nose. He looked wildly between Ian and Mickey. "What's going on? What is all this?!"

"Give me your phone."

"Wh—what?" the man stammered.

"Give me your fucking phone!" Mickey snapped, enunciating his words slowly.

The man clumsily reached into his back pocket and handed Mickey his phone with a shaky hand. "Please, what is all this? I don't want any trouble."

"Shut the fuck up!" Mickey spat as he stared down at the sickening picture on his phone before showing it to the man, whose eyes widened in horror. "You got a wife? Kids?"

"Please, no!"

"What do you think your wife will say when she finds out you were sucking off a sixteen-year-old kid, huh?" Mickey asked through gritted teeth, fuming.

"He—he didn't tell me he was sixteen."

"Yeah, well. . .he is, dick breath."

Ian just leaned back with his butt against the table, arms crossed, a small smirk on his face. He knew—even though Mickey would never admit to it—just why he was so worked up, but he would let it go this time.

"Please, why are you doing this? What do you want?"

Mickey punched the guy in the face again to shut him up. "What did I just tell you!? Shut the fuck up. Now, give me your wallet."

The man reluctantly complied as he shot a dark look in Ian's direction.

"Don't look at him! Don't you fucking look at him," Mickey snapped. "Keep your fucking eyes on me," he said as he went through the man's wallet, pulling out a couple hundred dollars. "This all you have?"

"It's all I have," the man insisted. "Please, can I go?"

"No. We're gonna take a little trip down to the ATM and you're going to give us a grand. That's the going rate for keeping our mouths shut, capisce?"

The man stared at Mickey, his mouth agape. "If. . .If you're gonna take my money, the least you could do is have the twink suck me off."

Mickey sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and laughed an unamused, silent laugh. "Is that all you think he is? Some twink?" He then punched the guy in the gut, causing the guy to shout in pain. "Rate is now two thousand, asshole. Get up!" He grabbed the man by his arm and pulled him up and shoved him roughly towards the door.

Ian watched as Mickey escorted the man outside, but not before their eyes met, small smiles playing on their lips.


	12. What Happens in the Dark

Mickey returned to the room a few minutes later, practically bombarded by an excited Ian, a grin spread wide across his freckled face.

"We did it, Mickey! We fucking did it," Ian exclaimed as Mickey shut the door behind him.

Mickey looked up at Ian and grinned himself as he waved the handful of cash around. "Two thousand dollars. I got the asshole's phone number and address, so the bitch ain't talking."

Before Ian could think about what he was doing, he fisted the collar of Mickey's sweater with both hands and pushed him back against the door, knocking the wind out of him. His breath was warm and sweet on Mickey's face as he leaned in closer. "It's too bad you're not gay," he murmured, his eyes falling to Mickey's lips. "I'd fuck the shit out of you right now. What you did, that was so fucking hot, Mickey."

Mickey stared back at Ian, visibly swallowing as he tried to process all of this. After a few heartbeats, he pressed a hand to Ian's solid chest and pushed him back a few feet. "Easy there, Red."

Ian stepped back and ran a hand over his head. "Sorry, but— _fuck,_ Mickey. The way you handled that guy was so fucking hot."

"Alright, keep your dick in your pants," Mickey said sarcastically and turned away from Ian, pretending to count the money and pretending he wasn't fazed by any of it, even though his cock was responding against his will and his heart rate had noticeably quickened.

Ian laughed goofily and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"So, uh, everything went cool with the guy then?" Mickey asked as nonchalantly as possible, as he continued counting the money for a third time, having lost count the first two times. "He didn't give you any trouble? Didn't try anything stupid?"

Ian shrugged, deciding to leave out the part about how the guy had practically molested him before they'd even made it to the parking lot. "Nah, pretty cut and dry."

Mickey scoffed. "You could've at least picked a better looking douchebag than that geriatric viagroid."

Ian smirked. "Why? It's not like I was actually going to fuck the guy. If I was _actually_ looking for someone to fuck, he would have definitely had a better body. And he would have definitely been blond."

"Blond?" Mickey exclaimed. "You like blonds?"

"Yeah," Ian said, standing up and turning around with a smirk on his face, loving the reaction he was getting from Mickey. "Brunettes don't really do it for me." He entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him, but not before catching a glimpse of the look of frustration on Mickey's face.

* * *

They were in bed, lying feet to head as they had the night before. Both of them were quiet, both pretending to be asleep, both lost deep in their own thoughts.

Ian was staring through the darkness, trying to get his mind to stop racing so that he could finally actually fall asleep. He had called Fiona right before bed to assure her that he was fine and not to worry, and had hung up before she could argue or ask anymore questions. He hadn't realized just how homesick he was until tonight.

He'd do anything to be back home in his cramped single bed; with Lip snoring obnoxiously a few feet away, Carl unsuccessfully pretending not to masturbate under the covers, and Liam throwing toys at him from his crib.

He couldn't help but wonder for the hundredth time how this would all play out. Would Terry forgive everything and just let it go? Would he kill him anyway, so infuriated about being played and disobeyed? Would he kill Mickey too, his own son? Growing up in the South Side, Ian had heard stories about Terry Milkovich, and he had no doubt in his mind that the man was pure evil.

He sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stop thinking and to fall asleep.

"Fuck."

"What's wrong?" came a husky reply.

"I just have so much shit on my fucking mind right now," Ian whined, running a hand over his face. "I can't sleep."

"Well, try fucking harder, Jesus," Mickey groused with a tug on the blankets, "and give me some covers, man."

Ian sighed dramatically.

"Go to sleep."

"I can't. I just keep thinking about everything, about how all of this is going to go down once we get back home," Ian continued, realizing he probably sounded like such a fucking kid.

"Look, it'll all work out. If things keep happening the way they did tonight, we'll have the money in no time," Mickey said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"You really think your dad will just let this go?"

Mickey didn't say anything.

"Mickey?"

"Just go to sleep, Gallagher."

Ian sighed in frustration and bit his lower lip as silence ensued.

Another reason he couldn't sleep was the fact that Mickey was lying so close to him, heat radiating from his body. Their bodies were so close, he could practically feel the hairs on Mickey's legs tickling his skin.

To put it mildly, Ian was fucking horny. Ever since witnessing Mickey fly off the handle and beat the shit out of that guy earlier, he couldn't stop thinking about it. It had been one of the hottest things he'd ever seen. Watching Mickey _protect_ him had been one of the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

Without thinking much about it, Ian let out a deep exhale and then slowly reached his hand under the blankets until the very tips of his fingers grazed Mickey's upper thigh. Mickey was wearing only boxer shorts that were, luckily for Ian, bunching up around his thighs.

He could hear Mickey suck in a sharp intake of breath and his whole body seemed to freeze as Ian's fingertips lightly grazed his thigh; back and forth, back and forth, torturing him.

"What the fuck're you doing, Gallagher?" Mickey hissed, his voice sounding suspiciously thick.

"Nothing," Ian whispered back into the dark.

"Yeah? Sure as shit doesn't feel like nothing."

Ian didn't say anything, just bit his lower lip and kept going.

"You mind taking your fucking hand off me?" Mickey said after a few more strokes, but there was no edge to his tone.

Ian didn't listen, because of course he didn't. Instead, he shifted over just a tad more and moved his fingers even further up Mickey's thigh until they lightly grazed Mickey's crotch over his cotton boxers. He heard Mickey suck in another breath, but still Mickey said nothing.

"Just let me do this," Ian whispered. "Let me do this. No one will ever have to know, Mickey. I promise."

"Are you outta your fucking mind?" Mickey hissed, even though Ian could swear he spread his legs open just a little wider.

Ian wasn't in the mood to take no for an answer. His own cock was throbbing and aching for release. He skimmed the palm of his hand over Mickey's boxers, pleased that Mickey's cock seemed to be just as hard as his own.

"Don't," Mickey said unconvincingly. "You keep going, I'll break every knuckle on your hand."

"Doesn't it feel good?" Ian asked as he continued hesitantly palming Mickey over the cotton fabric.

"Of course it feels good, it's a fucking hand on my dick," Mickey choked out.

As Ian kept massaging Mickey's cock with his left hand, he reached down and tugged his own cock out of his boxers.

"What the fuck're you doing?" Mickey hissed, but still made no move to push Ian's hand away.

"Now who's talking too much," Ian choked out as he stroked his own cock. He decided to be brave and endure any repercussions and slipped his fingers inside the slit of Mickey's boxers. He was instantly stopped, though, when a hand roughly grabbed his wrist.

Their heavy panting was the only sound in the room.

Finally, after what seemed like forever in Ian's mind, the fingers around his wrist relaxed. He took that as an invitation and he pulled Mickey's cock from his boxers and started stroking him in the same even strokes he was performing on his own.

"Fuck," he heard Mickey sigh into the dark and it was the sexiest sound Ian had ever heard in his life.

Mickey's feet dug into the pillow next to Ian's head and he thought maybe _that_ turned him on even more.

"Feel good?" Ian whispered into the dark through his own heavy breathing as he continued stroking both cocks steadily. He was already close to his own orgasm.

"Stop talking," Mickey snapped and then practically mewled when Ian's thumb flicked over the head of his leaking dick.

Ian arched his back and groaned as his orgasm rolled through him and, only seconds later, he felt Mickey's warm come spurting through his fingers. He gave both of their cocks a few final strokes before removing his hands. "Shit, Mickey," he murmured, trying to get his body to float back down to earth.

Mickey didn't say anything, just rolled over onto his side away from Ian.

"Mickey?" Ian whispered into the dark.

"Go to sleep," was the gruff reply.

* * *

Mickey was a wreck. He had woken up first, feeling as if he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. He was sticky with sweat and come as he got out of bed, careful not to stir Ian. The last thing he wanted to do right now was face Ian. He tugged on some clothes and his coat and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag from it, his fingers shaking slightly. He rubbed at his eye with the palm of his hand. "Fuck," he muttered.

What the fuck was going on here? A week ago, he was home, living his normal fucking fucked up life. . .and now he was here, helping some kid escape his dad's wrath and getting hand jobs from him in the middle of the night. From a fucking guy. He still couldn't fucking wrap his mind around any of it. It didn't make any goddamn sense.

The things Ian made him think, feel and do made absolutely no fucking sense, yet he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the fucking kid, or worrying about his well being, or, _fuck_, checking him out. Since when the fuck did he blatantly check dudes out? What the fuck was wrong with him?

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't turn back now. He was in this situation whether he wanted to be or not. He had tried to ignore the stupid fucking redhead, but Ian always, infuriatingly, seemed to fucking find his way back into his head anyway.

He had a feeling, no matter what he did, that he was fucked.

* * *

Ian's head shot up when Mickey entered the room a short while later. "You gotta stop disappearing like that."

"I needed a fucking smoke, is that all right with you?" Mickey asked roughly. He tore off his coat and tossed it onto the green chair. Before Ian could say anything else, he spoke, "So, are you going to go back out tonight and hit someone else up? Maybe we can get two guys tonight, quicken this shit up a bit so we can get the hell outta here."

Ian's shoulders slumped. He had already figured that Mickey wasn't going to want to talk about what happened the night before, but the fact that he was already pushing him to go out and rope another guy in stung a little. "Yeah. Yeah, if that's what you want me to do."

"Yeah, that's what I want you to do. Fuck else would you do?" Mickey said flatly. "The sooner we get the money, the sooner this shit can all be over."

"Right," Ian said with an affirmative nod of his head, even though his chest felt heavy. "I'm going to go take a shower," he mumbled before flinging the covers away from his body and heading to the bathroom.

Only when the bathroom door shut did Mickey melt with a sigh and lean back against the wall. He didn't want to be mean to Ian, but there was no other way. In the end, he was doing them both a favor by pushing him away.


	13. Fade To Black

Two nights later, Mickey came back from his walk to the ATM with their most recent victim and slapped another two grand on the table. "We're up to almost eight thousand now," he said with a shit-eating grin, shrugging out of his coat. He snuck a look at Ian, who was blankly staring at the TV screen. "I paid another two nights on the room too, just in case. After that, we should be good to go."

"Uh huh."

"At least the dude you brought back tonight didn't look like a fucking serial killer," Mickey said, trying to lighten the mood. "That one you brought back last night, looked like he wanted to kill you and eat your liver with some fava beans and chianti."

"Right," came the monotonous reply.

Mickey pushed the sleeves to his sweater up and sighed, wishing he knew what to say to Ian to ease the tension, but he wasn't exactly good with words. Ever since the morning after their midnight hand jobs, things between them had been awkward, to say the least. They slept, ate, Ian went out and grabbed a random guy, they robbed him, and then went to bed. It had been like that for the past two days now. They barely said two words to each other. Mickey didn't want to admit it, but he kind of missed Ian's constant talking and lame ass jokes.

"Fuck's wrong with you?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Nothing's wrong with me," Ian said simply, his eyes still focused on the TV.

"Look, I know you have some fucked up, twisted crush on me or whatever—"

Ian finally looked at Mickey, his expression hard, his eyes flashing with anger. "Fuck you, you wish."

Mickey's eyebrows shot up questionably.

Ian's jaw flexed and he looked back at the TV. "I actually have a guy back home I've been seeing anyway, so you can go fuck yourself. You were just the flavor of the week, so don't flatter yourself, asshole." Truth was, he hadn't thought about Kash much at all, but Mickey didn't need to know that.

Mickey frowned and then scratched at his temple. "Oh, you have a—a guy you've been seeing?" he asked flatly. "I wonder how he'd feel if he found out his _boyfriend_ was giving me a hand job the other night?"

"Fuck you, Mickey," Ian said, his voice shaking with emotion. "Kash would forgive me once I told him how small your dick is compared to his."

"Fuck you," Mickey spat, "and no fucking way towelhead's dick is bigger than mine."

"Trust me, it is," Ian snapped, knowing he was being immature but not caring at the moment.

"Well, fuck you _and_ fuck him then."

Ian shot out of bed and bent down to grab his clothes from the floor. "This is fucking ridiculous," he muttered as he tugged his jeans on. "I'm not doing this with you."

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Putting some fucking clothes on and going out to find a guy. You got a fucking problem with that?" Ian exclaimed, visibly shaken.

Mickey stared back at him, feeling like a complete dick. In a matter of two days, he had somehow reduced Ian from his talkative, rambunctious self into this mean, miserable kid. Before he could think too much about what he was doing, he walked to Ian and grabbed his arm.

"Aye, look. . ._look_."

Ian shrugged his arm out of Mickey's grasp and heaved a heavy sigh of frustration as he concentrated on turning his t-shirt right side out, which was proving to be a daunting task with shaky hands.

"Look at me," Mickey began, his tone lighter as his eyes skimmed over Ian's face.

"Leave me alone," Ian said, turning his back on Mickey. "You got what you fucking wanted, Mickey. I know I was too talkative, and told too many fucking jokes, and kept coming on to you, but you don't have to worry about any of that anymore."

"Ian—"

"Just leave me the fuck alone, alright?" Ian said, spinning to face him. "For the past two days you've treated me like I'm nothing. You've barely said two fucking words to me. This whole thing is almost over, so why don't we just keep it that way?" He tore his shirt down over his head and then brushed past Mickey to grab his coat. "I'll bring a guy home tonight, and we'll get the rest of our fucking money so you can go back home and go on pretending I don't fucking exist."

"Would you wait a fucking minute," Mickey said, grabbing for his arm again but Ian was too quick. He was suddenly slammed back against the wall, the air rushing out of his lungs. Ian had him gripped up by the front of his shirt, his face just inches from his.

"Look, just because you're fucking confused and don't know what the hell you want, don't fucking take it out on me. I'm not some fucking kid who can't handle the truth. You don't want me, fine, but don't fucking take it out on me because you hate yourself." With that, Ian roughly released his grip he had on Mickey and headed to the door.

Mickey watched dumbfounded as Ian left the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Ian walked down the street, huddled in his coat against the freezing cold wind. He was walking at a brisk pace, still smarting from his argument with Mickey.

What right did that asshole have? To act like he was just some stupid kid with a crush? That was far from what he was. He definitely wasn't a kid, and he knew what he wanted, which was a hell of a lot more than he could say for Mickey fucking Milkovich.

He knew, deep down, that Mickey didn't hate him; Mickey hated himself. But still, it hurt how Mickey had been treating him like a leper the past two days. He was sick of it. If the other man didn't want him, fine. He could deal with that. . .but he just wanted to get this whole thing over with so he could get back home to his family and forget any of this ever happened.

He looked up when he neared a bar and stopped. He had decided to go somewhere new, so he didn't risk being recognized. So far, he and Mickey had tricked three guys, all of them from the same bar, so he had to play it safe in case word had gotten around. This place looked as good as any other, so he went inside.

* * *

Mickey tried to keep his focus on the TV show, but kept finding his eyes glancing back at the clock, keeping a mental note on how long Ian had been gone. It had been almost two hours now and—even though he hated the fact—he was getting worried fucking sick, to put it mildly. Usually, Ian was out and back within an hour.

He kept telling himself to relax, that Ian was only staying out longer just to piss him off or blow off steam, and he tried to get lost in the TV show playing on the screen, but it was no fucking use.

He stood up and began pacing a little. Suddenly, he wished he had gotten Ian his own fucking phone so he could at least call him, not that Ian would answer for him right now anyway.

He ran a hand over his mouth and paced a few more times before finally grabbing his coat and leaving.

* * *

The guy was hot—hotter than the other three he had picked up had been—and younger. For a fleeting moment, Ian actually considered just fucking this one to get his pent up frustration out and moving on to the next, but—in the end—he knew it was getting late and he needed to get this done. Even though he was pissed at Mickey, he didn't want him to worry.

After making sex eyes at each other for several minutes, Ian finally made his way over to the man. He was in his thirties and had a Bradley Cooper thing going on. He could definitely work with this. "Hey," Ian said, leaning against the bar, using his best sexy voice.

"Hey," the man said before coolly taking a sip of his drink.

Ian discreetly noticed the man wore a wedding band. "You wanna get out of here?" he asked, giving the man a sexy smirk. "I have a room right down the road. We can go have some fun."

The man slyly looked him over, his blue eyes taking him all in. Apparently, he liked what he saw. He took another sip of his drink. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know how to give it," Ian said huskily, leaning closer.

The man smirked along the rim of his glass before asking, "Is that right?"

"Why don't you come find out?"

The man seemed to think it over, looking him over once more. "You go first. I'll meet you outside."

Ian smiled and brushed past the man to wait out in the parking lot. Sure enough, a couple minutes later, the man appeared. "So, where's your car?" he asked, stepping into the man's personal space and gripping the collar of his coat.

The man nodded his head back towards the parking lot, motioning for Ian to follow him.

Ian followed after him eagerly and was relieved when he spotted a bright, shiny red Porsche.

"Get in," the man said before slipping inside.

Ian looked heavenward and grinned before getting into the car, knowing that he and Mickey had just hit the jackpot with this one. Mickey was going to be impressed.

"What motel are you staying in?"

"Right down the road, the Travelodge," Ian said as he fastened his seatbelt.

"How about we just do it right here?" the man said, catching Ian off guard with the unwanted offer. "You can suck my dick here. Don't need a room for that." He reached down and unzipped his pants.

Ian tried to play it cool as best as he could. He was used to these types of guys. Good thing he knew how to be persuasive. He leaned into the man a little and ran a hand up his thigh, stopping just before reaching his crotch. "Let's go to my room. It'll be a better time. I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

The man pulled his dick out and began stroking himself crudely. "I said I want my dick sucked now."

Ian stared back at the guy, not liking his tone. Ian's whole demeanor changed. _Fuck this_. "Fuck you. I'm out," he said, unfastening his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. Before he could even fully register what was happening, the man grabbed him by the back of the head and pushed forward violently, slamming Ian's forehead hard against the dashboard.

Everything went black.


	14. Fix You

Mickey all but ran to the bar down the block where Ian usually picked up their Johns. He scanned the nearly empty parking lot, seeing that there were only three cars left. He tossed his cigarette into the night and pulled open the door and stepped inside. He scanned the dim, smoky bar area, not finding Ian anywhere, just a couple of lonely losers drowning their sorrows.

He walked up to the bar and impatiently waited for the bartender to spot him. "Hey, some fucking service down here, please?" he yelled after only about ten seconds. Patience had never really been his thing.

The bartender finally sauntered towards him, a disapproving smirk on his face. "What can I get for you, pal?"

"I'm looking for someone. . .he's sixteen, about this tall, red hair. You seen 'im?"

"A sixteen-year-old redhead? Not tonight, man. Sorry," the bartender said with a smirk before walking away.

"Fuck," Mickey grumbled, panic rushing through him.

He went to the men's room, checked the stalls just in case only to find them empty, and then left, intent on going back to the room, in case Ian had made his way back. Deeper panic set in when Mickey suddenly realized that Ian could have very well made his way back to the motel room with a strange man, and Mickey wouldn't be there to protect him if something went wrong.

It didn't take him long at all to get back to the room, only to find that Ian still wasn't there. "Fuck!" Mickey yelled, punching a hole in the wall before fully realizing what he was doing. He cradled his aching hand against his chest, a half dozen possibilities rushing through his head and making him sick.

Maybe Ian had finally gotten sick of him and his bullshit and had gone home by himself, but how? Ian didn't have money on him. Then Mickey had the dreadful realization that Ian may have hitchhiked home. The thought of Ian being in some stranger's car made his stomach churn.

He began pacing again before stopping dead in his tracks. The worst scenario of all popped into his head; that maybe Ian had met another guy and was in trouble.

Without thinking anymore about it, he left the room again, intent on checking every fucking bar within a five mile radius.

After checking another bar to no avail, Mickey spotted a tavern sign in the distance and hightailed in that direction. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this worried about anyone in his life, and that was a thought that fucking terrified him. He hadn't realized he cared so much about the guy, especially in such a short amount of time. It completely blindsided him, but he didn't have time to think about it.

He crossed the parking lot to the bar and stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted a lump lying at the far end of the parking lot, half-shrouded in shadows. He instantly recognized the dark blue and bright orange of Ian's coat. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach and he sprang into action, sprinting across the parking lot as fast as his legs could take him.

"No, shit!" Mickey sputtered in panic as he dropped down hard to his knees next to Ian. "No, no, Ian!" he yelled, lifting and cradling Ian's limp body against his chest. "Ian, fuck! Ian!" He stared down into Ian's face, a large gash spreading across his forehead, his face and hair matted with dark crimson blood.

Before Mickey could wrap his mind around what was happening, he felt hot tears spilling down his cheeks. "Ian, come on, man! Fuck!" He looked around in panic for help, but didn't see anyone.

Ian finally made a noise at the back of his throat and then grimaced in pain without opening his eyes.

"Ian," Mickey muttered, overcome with overwhelming relief. He held Ian even tighter against him and impulsively pressed his lips into his matted red hair.

"Fuck happened?" Ian grumbled hoarsely, still grimacing in pain and reaching up to touch his forehead gingerly.

Mickey stared down at him, suddenly thinking that Ian's voice was the most beautiful fucking sound he'd ever heard in his life. He made a vow, right there and then, to never fucking complain about Ian talking ever again. "I don't fucking know," he answered thickly, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears as he continued staring down at Ian.

Ian finally opened his eyes into slits and stared up at Mickey. His face then crumbled. "Fuck," he whispered. "The guy. There was a guy. . .red Porsche."

Mickey's heart immediately tightened in his chest.

"He—he wanted to fuck in his car and I wouldn't. I tried to leave, tried to get out. Next thing I know, everything went—went black," Ian said, struggling to sit up on his own.

"Fuck," Mickey said, his chest burning. "Fuck!" he said again, standing up. He paced a few times before stopping to look down at Ian. "I should have never let you do this! I should've never let you put yourself in this fucking situation. I knew it was fucking stupid the moment it came out of your mouth!"

"It's not up to you to protect me, Mickey."

"Yes, it is!" Mickey exclaimed, surprising the both of them. "Fuck," he murmured, running a hand over his mouth as he regarded Ian sadly. After a few heartbeats, he crouched down next to Ian. He reached out a hand and cupped his cheek.

Ian closed his eyes and leaned gently into Mickey's touch.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Mickey asked, rubbing a hand over Ian's head to check for anymore gashes. "I need to get you to a fucking hospital to get you checked out."

"No, I can't," Ian argued, shaking his head vehemently. "I'm fine, it's just a cut. I'm alright."

"You need to get checked, Ian."

"No! They'll just ask a bunch of fucking questions. I'm sixteen! They're not just gonna let me walk in and out without asking questions. I'm fine," Ian said flatly. "Help me up."

Mickey grabbed Ian's hands and pulled him up.

Ian stumbled a little and fell into Mickey. He sighed heavily when Mickey immediately wrapped his arms around him and dug his face into his neck.

"I'm sorry. I should've fucking been there." Mickey pulled away after a while and gazed up into Ian's eyes.

"I want to go back to the room," Ian said softly, not wanting to read too much into Mickey's actions, he'd made that mistake one too many times before. "Please? Can we just go back?"

Mickey wrapped an arm around Ian's waist and held his hand over his shoulder, steadying him, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we can go," he said gently.

* * *

Once they arrived back at their room, Ian immediately shrugged out of his coat and then pulled his shirt over his head.

Mickey's eyes trailed over Ian's naked torso before forcing himself to look away, knowing that now was definitely not the time to check him out. When he looked back a few seconds later, he was surprised to find Ian standing there stock-still, his bottom lip slightly trembling. "What? What's wrong?"

Ian didn't say anything, just stared down at his belt buckle that had been bent, his zipper broken; telltale signs that something unpleasant had happened in that car, something he couldn't even remember. Before he could stop them, hot tears spilled down his cheeks and he angrily swiped at them.

Mickey immediately strode over to Ian and pulled him into his arms with a hand to the back of his head, anger rushing through him in waves. _If he ever found the fucking piece of shit that did this. . ._

"I can't—I can't remember what the fuck happened," Ian choked out. "I mean, that's probably a good thing though, right?"

Mickey cradled the back of Ian's head in his hand. He didn't care if this was foreign to him, new territory. Hugging Ian right now felt like the most natural thing in the world to him, and he didn't want to let go. "Come on," he muttered after a few minutes. "Let's get you in the shower and get you cleaned up, see how bad it is."

Ian nodded weakly and pulled away, turning to head to the bathroom. He weakly finished undressing as Mickey turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature.

Mickey wanted to give Ian privacy and he turned his back while he stepped out of his boxers. "Water should be good. I'll be out there if you need anything." He started to leave the bathroom, but Ian grabbed his wrist, stopping him. He turned around and locked eyes with Ian, his breath caught in his throat.

Staring into Ian's wide, red-rimmed eyes, he couldn't help himself. He swallowed thickly and reached up to cup Ian's face in his hands and leaned in, pressing his lips softly to Ian's dried and bloodied lips. He kissed him slowly and softly, not caring about anything in the moment aside from kissing the irritating, stubborn, beautiful redhead in front of him.

When they pulled apart, they tapped foreheads, neither of them knowing quite what to think or say to each other.

"I'm going to hop in before the water gets cold," Ian finally said, breaking the silence first.

Mickey nodded dumbly, not blaming Ian for wanting to change the subject. He was surprised, however, that—for the first time—_he_ was the one that didn't want to change the subject. "Okay," he simply said. "I'm going to run down to the store real quick and grab some things. You're going to need some aspirin and stitches."

Ian just nodded curtly as he stepped into the shower.

Mickey gave him one last look before leaving the bathroom and closing the door with him.

* * *

A half an hour later, Mickey entered the room to find Ian sitting at the table, dressed in a red t-shirt and gray sweatpants. His hair was damp and slicked back and, after cleaning the blood off, the gash on his head looked even worse than Mickey had initially thought.

"Christ, Ian," Mickey said, placing the bags on the table and shrugging out of his coat. He walked over to Ian and hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head back so he could inspect the wound further.

"Jesus, I'm fine," Ian assured him, swatting his hand away. "I grew up in the Gallagher house with five siblings. I've had worse cuts before, trust me."

"It doesn't look fine," Mickey said as he pulled the second chair out and sat down on it backwards in front of Ian. He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up and emptied the contents of the bag onto the table.

Ian watched him, liking the fact that Mickey was being so protective and caring, but not wanting to read too much into it. He then looked down and inspected what Mickey had purchased. . .rubbing alcohol, scissors, thread and the biggest needle he'd ever seen in his life. His eyes widened. "What the fuck, Mickey."

"I gotta stitch you up," Mickey said, handing Ian three ibuprofen. "Here, take these. They'll help take the edge off later."

"You are not stitching me up," Ian said, even though he could feel the warm flow of blood still seeping out of the cut on his forehead.

"Trust me, I got this," Mickey insisted. "Growing up in the Milkovich house, you learned how to do shit like this yourself to avoid trips to the hospital. They ask too many fucking questions and charge you a shit ton of money for something you can do yourself at home."

Ian's eyes grew wide as he watched Mickey thread the too-big needle. "No fucking way are you coming at me with that thing."

"I gotta stitch you up, man."

"Not with that fucking thing, you're not!" Ian exclaimed, still eyeing the unusually thick needle.

Mickey looked at Ian, his eyebrows cocked. Eventually, his face broke into a grin. "Relax, Gallagher. I'm just fuckin' with you." He then pulled a tube of super glue out of the bag. "Super glue works just as good."

"Super glue?" Ian asked skeptically even as he relaxed a little.

"Just trust me, alright?"

"Yeah, you keep saying that."

Mickey's smile faded as he lifted his eyes to Ian's. "You probably don't trust me right about now, do you?"

Ian sighed and rubbed at his eye. "This wasn't your fault, Mickey. Tonight wasn't your fault. I was mad at you, and I went out before you could stop me."

Mickey suddenly leaned forward so that his face was mere inches from Ian's, and he began cleaning Ian's cut with the rubbing alcohol.

"Ah, fuck!" Ian exclaimed, jumping back. "Warn me next time, maybe?!"

Mickey grinned as he continued cleaning the cut. Without meaning to, his eyes dropped to Ian's and he was taken back by how intently Ian was watching him. He forced his eyes away and continued doing what he was doing, all the while his heart was hammering in his throat. "Almost done."

Ian watched as Mickey grabbed the super glue and gingerly worked on closing the cut. He grimaced in pain, but kept his cool for the most part. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"I'm fucking sure, stop asking so many questions," Mickey assured him, his voice throaty. Finally, satisfied with his work, he sat back. "There. That should do the trick."

"Thanks," Ian said, still trying to catch his breath. He hated that Mickey's close proximity had such an affect on him. He'd have to learn how to deal with that better. "What if I have a concussion?"

"Again, growing up as a Milkovich, we've had plenty of concussions, so I know what to look for. I'll keep an eye on you, don't worry."

Ian nodded and rubbed at the back of his head. "Would you mind if I just lie down now? I'm exhausted."

Mickey just shook his head and followed Ian with his eyes as he stood up and went to the bed. He watched with a quickened pulse as Ian climbed under the covers and curled into a fetal position. He knew Ian was just trying to pretend he was okay, to pretend he was strong.

Ian's eyes flew open when he felt the bed dip and, before he could turn around and question it, Mickey was right there behind him, pressing against his back, wrapping a strong arm around his waist. "What're you—"

"Just shut up," Mickey husked against the back of Ian's neck, his lips just barely brushing against skin. "We don't have to talk tonight."

Ian just nodded, not having the energy to argue, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel safe in Mickey's arms, even if it didn't mean quite as much to the other man.

Mickey snuggled closer and tightened his arm around Ian. It seemed like forever until he finally gained enough courage to grumble into the back of Ian's red t-shirt. "You scared the shit outta me, asshole," he said gruffly.

Ian's eyes opened and he sucked in a soft breath as he took in Mickey's words. He didn't say anything—didn't know what to say—so he just snuggled back a little closer and tightened Mickey's arm around him.

Mickey nuzzled his nose deeper into the fabric of Ian's shirt, inhaling his scent and not wanting to pretend for the night. He could go back to pretending tomorrow. Tonight, he just wanted to hold him.


	15. Strictly Physical

The next morning, Mickey moaned and reached his left arm out blindly, feeling nothing but empty space next to him. He opened his eyes into bleary slits to find that Ian had, indeed, gotten out of bed without waking him.

Unnecessary panic coursed through him as he sat up and looked around the room. Relief then washed through him in the next instant when he saw Ian sitting at the table, the phone held up to his ear. Mickey sat back against the headboard with a grunt and rubbed tiredly at his eye as he stared at Ian's back.

"I'm fine, Lip," Ian said tiredly, his head bent in his free hand. "We have everything under control, and I should be home in a couple days. Don't worry about me. Just make sure you guys stay at Kev and V's, okay? Remember, no cops."

Mickey climbed off the bed and sat down in the chair adjacent to Ian, catching his eyes when he looked up.

"Tell everyone I love them," Ian said into the phone, his voice shaking slightly, still holding Mickey's gaze. "I'll be home soon," he finished before pulling the phone from his ear and hanging up. He ran a hand over his face with an exhausted sigh. "I had to hang up on him," he said. "He wouldn't stop asking fucking questions."

"They're just worried about you," Mickey said, wanting to reach over and squeeze Ian's hand, but refrained.

"Yeah," Ian said, rubbing at the back of his neck, his lower lip trembling just enough for Mickey to notice.

"Hey, none of that shit, alright?" Mickey said, finally reaching over and placing his hand awkwardly over Ian's. "Everything's cool."

"Yeah, you said that before, and look how everything turned out," Ian said flatly, pulling his hand from Mickey's and standing up to pace to the other side of the room.

Mickey watched him, Ian's words cutting deep, but he supposed Ian had a right to say them. He couldn't blame Ian for being pissed off at him and the entire situation, and he sure as hell couldn't blame Ian for not trusting him. He was the reason Ian was in this fucked up situation to begin with.

Ian paced some more, then sighed and turned to face him dejectedly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. My head's just all fucked up right now."

"It's alright, man. It's understandable."

Ian ran a hand over his face and sat down on the edge of the unmade bed, unaware of Mickey's own inner turmoil.

"You wanna go get some breakfast or something?" Mickey asked, trying to break the tension. "Maybe some food will do you good."

"No," Ian said blandly, looking down at his hands. "I don't have much of an appetite."

"That's a fucking first," Mickey teased, eager to lighten the mood.

Ian just gave him a small weak smile, still looking down at his hands.

Mickey's heart ached at the sight, missing the Ian from just a few short days ago—bubbly, smiling, joke-telling, non-stop-talking Ian. He stood up and walked towards him, but was stopped when Ian looked up abruptly, his eyes dark and intense.

"Don't, Mickey."

Mickey's arms dropped to his sides and he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"Look, I appreciate you playing mother hen last night, but you don't have to act like you care, okay? You don't have to—to spoon me in bed, or hold my hand, or lick my wounds."

"Ian—"

"I'm not some broken little faggot that needs fixed, alright?" Ian interrupted quickly. "What happened last night was fucking shitty, yeah. . .but I don't want you to feel like you have to—to pretend that you care about me."

"Look—"

"No, Mickey, you look—"

"Fuck, Ian, would you just shut the fuck up and let me talk?" Mickey exclaimed, suddenly irritated. "I'm not fucking coddling you because I feel sorry for you, asshole. I. . .fuck. . .I care about you, alright?"

Ian jutted his chin out, staring at Mickey glaringly. "You're just feeling guilty."

"Of course I fucking feel guilty!" Mickey yelled, taken Ian by surprise. "If I would've come up with a better plan, if I would've been there—"

Ian stood up and got in Mickey's face, using his height advantage against him. "Well, fucking don't! It was _my_ choice, _my_ decision, and I was the stupid fucking idiot who got in the guy's car! Don't feel sorry for me, Mickey, I don't need your fucking pity! I don't need anything from you."

Mickey glared back at Ian, his body trembling with anger, his chest rising and falling rapidly with every sharp breath he took. "Yeah, well, fuck you then."

"No, fuck you, Mickey," Ian fired back.

Before either of them realized what was happening, Mickey engulfed Ian's face in his hands and kissed him hard.

Ian stumbled backwards slightly against the force of it and reached up, his fingers encircling Mickey's wrists. After a few heartbeats, he began kissing Mickey back fervently, hoping it didn't bite him in the ass later.

Mickey licked into Ian's mouth and swiped his tongue against his teeth, moaning deep in the back of his throat.

"Mick," Ian gasped into Mickey's mouth and pulled away, his breathing erratic. "You don't. . .you don't have to—"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey warned through his heavy breathing before surging back in for another desperate kiss. He pushed forward, taking Ian with him, until Ian's legs hit the side of the bed.

Ian fell backwards onto the bed, unlatching his mouth from Mickey's for only a second before Mickey was descending down on him. He leaned up and hungrily accepted Mickey's mouth again as he laid back, Mickey maneuvering on top of him, straddling him.

Mickey pulled away from the biting kiss to gaze down into Ian's eyes. He was past the point of taking it back, of denying it. He didn't even want to deny it anymore. He was sick of fighting this strange, bizarre attraction. He wanted him. He wanted Ian fucking Gallagher.

"Mick," Ian whispered, his chest heaving, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed. "I don't want you to do anything you're going to regret. I don't know if I can handle it again. If you're going to back out, fucking do it now."

Mickey smoothed his hands down Ian's sides, found his wrists and then grabbed Ian's hands, pinning them to the mattress above Ian's head as he stared down at him. "Let's just take it slow, alright." On Ian's nod, he dipped his head back down and kissed Ian slowly.

Ian unlocked one hand from Mickey's grasp and slipped it under Mickey's shirt and feathered his fingertips over the soft, warm skin of his lower back, causing Mickey to sigh into his mouth. "Is that too fast?"

Mickey pressed his face into Ian's neck and began sprinkling kisses along his pulse point. "Mm, no."

Ian grinned into Mickey's hair as he snuck his hand even further up, dragging Mickey's shirt with it.

Mickey suddenly pulled away and sat back. In one swift motion, he tore his shirt over his head and tossed it behind him.

Ian smiled up at him as he palmed Mickey's chest, pinched his nipples, then feathered his fingers down over his stomach. He held his breath as he then hooked his fingers underneath the waistline of Mickey's sweatpants.

Mickey stared down at Ian, desire flashing in his eyes.

"This too fast?" Ian asked.

Mickey licks his lips as he kept his eyes locked on Ian's. He then sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit back a moan when Ian grazed his erection through his pants. "Maybe I can lose the pants," he choked out before standing up and removing his sweats.

Ian propped himself up on his elbows and smiled as he watched Mickey strip in front of him. He then sat completely up and grabbed Mickey's hand once he was naked. He could tell Mickey was apprehensive and maybe even a little shy about being so fully exposed. "You're incredible," he murmured, tugging Mickey back onto the bed. He gripped Mickey's head and pulled him back in for a searing kiss. As they kissed hungrily, he maneuvered them so that Mickey was now on his back.

Mickey stared up at Ian when he pulled back. He didn't know how the sixteen-year-old could be so damn confidant in his every move, whereas Mickey was shaking from head to toe, having never gone this far with a guy before.

Ian nosed at Mickey's jaw and then whispered hotly in his ear, "can I suck your dick?"

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to keep his cool. "Do whatever the fuck you want," he rasped, though he had a feeling it didn't come out as hardass as he had wanted it to.

Ian gave him that sexy little smirk again before dipping his head and kissing Mickey chastely. He sprinkled kisses on his chin, throat, and the small dip between his pecs.

Mickey watched with hooded eyes as Ian continued his slow descent and it was on the tip of his tongue to stop him from going further because—truth be told—as much as he wanted Ian, this was all freaking him the fuck out. That whole thought process went out the window as soon as Ian's tight, hot mouth wrapped around the head of his cock.

"Oh, shit. . .Ian," Mickey moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Instinctively, he curled his fingers through Ian's hair, not wanting him to stop, never wanting him to fucking stop.

Ian smiled around Mickey's cock as he set his pace, taking Mickey in as far as he could, using his hand to work on the rest.

Mickey made noises he never heard himself make before and he opened his eyes. What he saw caused his whole body to shudder; Ian working that fucking amazing mouth on his cock as his eyes stared lustfully back at Mickey.

"Oh, fuck, feels so fucking good," Mickey moaned again, digging his head back into the pillow. He was embarrassed, knowing he wasn't going to last much longer. He decided to give Ian warning. "I'm gonna come already," he managed to choke out through his panting, but Ian kept going, working his mouth, hand and throat at a steady pace.

Mickey dug his fingers in Ian's hair harder and thrust his hips up, aching to spill over that sweet edge as he fucked up into Ian's mouth. He gasped and his whole body froze as his orgasm rolled through him, his warm come shooting right down Ian's throat.

Ian continued to suck him, slow and torturously, until Mickey couldn't take it anymore and practically begged him to stop. He released Mickey's cock with a pop before crawling his way up the older boy's body and falling beside him, propping up on an elbow and looking down to watch Mickey's face as he wiped at his messy chin with the back of his hand.

Mickey opened his eyes and stared up at Ian in a daze, realizing he must look like a fucking idiot right now—all red, sweaty, and panting like a fucking dog. "I fucking love that mouth of yours."

"Oh, now you love it, huh?"

"Fuck you," Mickey said through his panting.

Ian's smile grew even bigger and he leaned down to kiss Mickey tenderly on the lips.

Mickey gripped the back of Ian's head and held him down before slipping his tongue inside his mouth, tasting himself on those lips. When they broke apart, Mickey's next statement had Ian rolling over onto his back, laughing stupidly at the ceiling.

"Why the fuck didn't we do that sooner?"

* * *

A little while later, Mickey moaned as he stretched, opening his eyes and getting his bearings about him. He glanced over at Ian, who was sleeping soundly beside him. He didn't even remember falling asleep. Gently, he rolled over onto his side and took in the sight of Ian sleeping. He couldn't believe it, he was actually fucking watching another dude sleep. But damn if Ian Gallagher wasn't fucking beautiful.

He allowed his eyes to travel over Ian's soft features—his pale skin, the sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks, the way his nose turned up just the slightest little bit, those soft, plump lips parted slightly. . .

Fuck, he had to get a fucking grip.

His eyes then fell on the ugly red gash across Ian's forehead and he felt the white hot anger in his chest once more as he thought about the fucker that did this. He knew, without a doubt, that if he were to ever get his hands on the guy, he'd be going to jail for murder.

Mickey watched Ian for a few more seconds before groaning and rolling out of bed, still naked. He walked to the dresser and grabbed his smokes, pulling one out and lighting it. When he turned back towards the bed, he halted when he found Ian watching him.

"Hey," Ian said apprehensively.

Mickey took a long, satisfying drag from his cigarette and then exhaled the smoke with a laugh. "What's that look for?" he asked. "You don't have to get all fucking doe-eyed on me, Gallagher. We're cool." He wanted to act nonchalant about the whole thing, not wanting Ian to know that he was basically turning him into a pile of fucking goo on the inside. He had a rep to uphold, after all.

Ian pushed himself into a sitting position and groaned as he grabbed his forehead. "This shit fucking hurts."

Mickey walked over to him, his cigarette dangling between his lips, and gripped Ian's chin lightly, tilting his head back so he could inspect the wound. "It looks good. Luckily, it was a straight gash. Should heal up good." He then dropped his eyes to Ian's and his heart fluttered a little before he pulled his hand back quickly.

Succumbing to sexual activity with Ian was one thing he could definitely get behind; acknowledging real feelings was something Mickey was going to avoid doing altogether.

Mickey fully believed he could have a strictly physical relationship with him. He was pretty fucking sure that after maybe one or two (or ten) sexual encounters, he could get Ian out of his system and he could go back to his regularly scheduled programming.

Ian reached up then and, taking Mickey by surprise, plucked the cigarette from between Mickey's lips and brought it to his own lips to take a slow drag, never breaking eye contact.

"Now you're fucking stealing my cigarettes?" Mickey chastised, not realizing that he was smiling like an idiot.

Ian took another defiant hit of the stolen cigarette before grinning back. "It's my reward for sucking your dick so good earlier."

"Oh, really? You weren't that good," Mickey said, his eyes falling to Ian's mouth as he took another hit.

"Please. I was fucking fantastic."

"Oh, yeah?" Mickey said, kneeling onto the bed and plucking his cigarette from Ian's mouth. Before he could think fully about what he was doing, he leaned down and kissed Ian slowly and thoroughly.

Ian moaned through the kiss and wrapped his arm around Mickey's neck, pulling him closer as they reclined back into the blankets.

Mickey pushed his thoughts away into the back of his head, telling himself that this was just physical. There was no way in hell he was falling for Ian. Still, as Ian's tongue deliciously invaded his mouth and his fingers dug into Mickey's back just enough to hurt a little, Mickey realized there was nothing else he'd rather be doing right now than being here with him.


	16. Perfectly Imperfect

After kissing for a while, getting reacquainted with each other's mouths, Mickey crawled out of bed, grabbed his pack of smokes, and resettled next to Ian. Both of them relaxed on their backs, staring up at the ceiling as they passed a cigarette lazily back and forth between them.

Mickey had a feeling that Ian had wanted to take their make-out session further and—truth be fucking told—Mickey did too, but he meant it when he said he wanted to take it slow. As much as he wanted to touch and explore and experiment with Ian, everything was still so fucking new to him and he wanted to get used to the kissing first before dicks and assholes got involved. He wasn't quite ready to go that far yet (aside from that fucking incredible blow job, of course).

Ian turned his head and watched as Mickey puffed on his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing when he blew out a series of perfect smoke rings. He decided to play it safe, knowing Mickey didn't want to decipher or label anything right now. He was fine with that, he told himself, kissing and giving Mickey the occasional blow job would be enough for right now.

"So, what're we going to do for the rest of the money?" Ian asked.

Mickey took another hit before passing the cigarette to Ian. On his exhale, he said, "Fuck if I know, man. All I know is you're not putting yourself back out there like that again."

Ian smiled gingerly, liking how protective Mickey seemed to be over him. He turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. He reached his hand over towards the hand sprawled across Mickey's stomach and laced his fingers through Mickey's. It was a brave move, and he half-expected Mickey to pull his hand away, but surprisingly he didn't.

"We still need two thousand dollars before we can go back home," Ian continued thoughtfully. "We have to think of something."

"No, _I'll_ think of something," Mickey corrected sternly, glancing at Ian sideways. "Let me worry about it."

"Right, I forgot. You're the guy with all the plans," Ian teased.

Mickey smirked at him as he took another hit of his cigarette. "You think you're cute, don't you?"

"I know I'm cute," Ian said. "I think you know it too."

Mickey didn't answer, just blew more rings towards the ceiling.

Ian continued to watch him, loving everything about Mickey Milkovich's face; every slope, line, curve and flaw. He was perfectly imperfect. He swiped his thumb over the 'U' tattoo on the finger of the hand of Mickey's he was holding.

"Do you ever feel like we've known each other our whole lives?"

Mickey looked at Ian fully now. He wasn't used to having deep, meaningful conversations—and would rather scoop his eyeballs out with a fucking spoon than share his thoughts and feelings with people—but somehow, with Ian, he didn't mind so much.

Ian squeezed Mickey's hand before continuing. "I know we've only been in each other's lives for a couple weeks, but it feels like I've known you forever, y'know what I mean?"

"You getting fucking schmaltzy on me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, secretly admiring Ian's naivety.

A part of Mickey was envious, having never had the opportunity nor the chance to have that kind of outlook on life, growing up in the Milkovich home. He wondered, after this whole fucked up situation with his dad was over, if Ian would still feel this positive about life, about love. It made him sad to think that he wouldn't. He gave Ian's hand a squeeze back.

"Sorry," Ian said, dropping his head with a sigh. "I just feel this connection with you. It's weird. I can't really explain it."

Mickey wanted to tell him that, yes—for some strange fucking reason he couldn't even begin to understand—he felt that connection too, but he didn't. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground as it was. He didn't want to give Ian any false hope about their fucked up situation.

When Ian realized Mickey wasn't going to add more to the conversation, he turned and relaxed on his back with a sigh, accepting the cigarette Mickey held out to him. He stared up at the ceiling and attempted his own smoke rings.

Against his better judgment, Mickey watched him fail miserably and burst into laughter. "You're such a fucking dork."

Ian looked at him and grinned, the kind that stretched across his whole face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners—Mickey's favorite smile of his.

Not able to help it, Mickey propped up on his elbow and leaned down, pressing his lips to Ian's—no tongue, nothing sexual—just a soft, sweet kiss that took even him by surprise. When he pulled back and saw the way Ian was looking up at him, his walls went flying back up and he pulled away fully to sit up.

"I'm fucking starving," he said bluntly, flinging the covers away from his body and getting out of bed.

"Me too," Ian said, drumming his fingers over his stomach where his red shirt rode up, exposing skin that Mickey was trying so desperately not to look at.

Mickey picked up his phone. "I'm going to order a pizza. What do you want on it?"

"Doesn't matter, I'm not picky. Just no fucking anchovies."

Mickey called and placed the order for the large pepperoni and mushroom pie before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Ian maneuvered his way over and pressed a warm kiss between Mickey's shoulder blades. He then kissed his way down Mickey's spine, bending down until he was dangerously close to the waistband of Mickey's sweats.

Mickey stood up abruptly. "I'm going to go take a quick shower before picking up the pizza," he grumbled.

Ian stared at the closed door dumbfounded for a full minute before falling back against the mattress with a sigh. "Fucking tease!" he called out.

* * *

After being stuffed to capacity from the pizza, Mickey and Ian sat back against the headboard, a beer in each of their hands as they halfheartedly watched the old sitcom rerun on the TV screen.

"So, uh," Mickey began after a while. "I've been thinking, about a way we can come up with the other two grand."

Ian took a sip of his beer and looked at Mickey with a cocked eyebrow, unaware that he had been brainstorming, considering all Ian had been thinking about the whole day was fucking Mickey.

Mickey mindlessly peeled at the label on his beer bottle. "I was thinking about maybe just hitting up a convenience store or some shit. Getting it over and done with in one fell swoop."

"What?" Ian asked dumbly, bringing his bottle slowly away from his lips as he wrapped his mind around what Mickey was saying.

Mickey shrugged nonchalantly as he took another chug. "Yeah, man. I can acquire a gun from somewhere for cheap. I'm sure I can find some asshole around here selling guns outta the back of their van. That's no problem."

Ian just looked at Mickey, his expression grim and his heart thumping miserably in his chest. "Mickey, you can't."

Mickey continued on as if he hadn't heard him. "I can go tomorrow, get the gun, then wait until late tomorrow night and hit up a convenience store. I can probably clear two thousand easily, if I'm lucky."

"No, Mickey, I don't want you to," Ian said, shaking his head and sitting up straighter, setting his beer down on the table behind him. "There's gotta be another way, a safer way. What if you get caught and go to jail?"

Mickey looked at Ian with furrowed brows, as if he were just some stupid kid. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're against breaking the law _now_ ? You do realize I've already committed kidnapping, grand theft auto, assault and battery, theft, _and_ blackmail, right?"

Ian watched as Mickey placed his beer down hard, causing it to slosh, and then got out of bed. "Yeah, but—this is—it doesn't feel right, Mickey. I wouldn't feel right. I can't let you do it."

"Oh, would you just shut the fuck up already?" Mickey snapped, spinning to face him. "Enough with your little kid bullshit, Gallagher. Do you not understand the situation we're in? We need the fucking money."

"Yeah, but—"

"No! No buts," Mickey said flatly. "I'm fucking doing it. I'm getting us out of this. Enough fucking around, making doe-eyes at each other, and playing house. We need to get down to fucking business."

Ian just stared back at him, emotionally exhausted from it all. He didn't know how much more of this emotional roller coaster he could take. One minute Mickey wanted him, the next he was yelling at him. After several moments, he spoke softly, "so, there's no changing your mind about this?"

"No," Mickey said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then I guess there's nothing left to say," Ian said sadly, turning his eyes back to the TV.

"Now you're fucking getting it," Mickey snapped before walking to the green chair and sitting down.

This time, Ian didn't even argue with him about it.


	17. Criminal

The next morning, Ian woke up once again to find Mickey gone.

The now very familiar feeling of dread settled over him, and he buried his face in his hands with a deep, trembling sigh. He inhaled and exhaled deeply for a while before finally glancing at the clock to see that it was barely eleven AM. Surely Mickey wasn't dumb enough to go rob a place this early, in broad daylight.

But, then again, he was done trying to figure out how Mickey Milkovich's mind worked.

With great effort, Ian crawled out of bed, took a slightly satisfying shower and, by the time he walked back into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, he saw that Mickey had returned and was sitting at the small round table, a Glock .45 sitting in front of him.

Ian's eyes immediately went to the gun, his heart thumping wildly in his throat. A big part of him had been hoping that Mickey had changed his mind about it all, that he had simply gone out to get the morning paper, breakfast pastries and coffee.

Mickey watched him warily, rubbing a thumb over his bottom lip. He was the first one to break the awkward silence. "It's kinda fucking scary how easy it was to get that fucking thing. I barely had to walk three blocks before I found some crackhead selling shit out of the back of his van."

Ian just continued staring at the gun, his shoulders slumping as he slowly sat down on the bed.

Mickey continued, still rubbing at his bottom lip as he eyed Ian sheepishly. "Got a good deal on it too. Didn't set us back too much."

Ian's eyes shot up and he met Mickey's glare with his own. "Are you fucking insane, Mickey?" he finally choked out, his anger burning hot. "What if it would've been a fucking cop posing and baiting, did you fucking think of that? No, 'cause you don't fucking think!"

"It wasn't a fucking cop," Mickey said flatly.

"Yeah, but what if it fucking was!"

"Well, what if one of those fucking douchebags you picked up at the bar would've been a cop, huh?"

"Don't change the subject, Mickey!"

Mickey stood up abruptly and grabbed the gun, tucking it into the back waistline of his pants. "Look, don't fucking worry about it, alright? You think this is the first time I've done something like this? The first time I've bought an illegal gun and robbed a place? Get your head out of your goddamn ass, Gallagher."

Ian felt hot tears threatening to spill, but he held them in, not wanting to seem like even more of a fucking kid. He didn't want to give Mickey even more ammunition to use against him in the future.

"Oh, I don't doubt it's the first time," Ian said flatly. "In fact, I know it won't be the last fucking time either, because you're fucking stupid, Mickey. You're stupid!"

"Aye, fuck you!" Mickey said, moving to get in Ian's face. He stared up at him, nostrils flaring and eyebrows arching, daring him to continue his rant.

"That's all you'll ever be, huh, Mickey? Some fucked up criminal. That's all you'll ever amount to. Doing your dad's fucking dirty work, breaking the fucking law, 'cause that's all you are! A fucking lowlife loser!" He pressed his hands against Mickey's chest, pushing him backwards with all his might.

Mickey was dumbstruck as he stared back at Ian, momentarily caught off guard. He regained his balance and pushed Ian back just as hard. "Fuck you! I know how to get shit done! That's the difference between you and me! I know how to get shit done!"

"By solving everything with violence? By breaking the fucking law? You kidnap someone with no second thought, you steal cars like it's normal, you think about robbing a fucking store at gunpoint without blinking a fucking eye!"

"Fuck you, don't worry about it!" Mickey spat.

"I don't know what I ever fucking saw in you," Ian said, pushing him back, the tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He didn't care if he sounded like a kid right then. He was scared—fucking terrified—of Mickey getting caught, of him picking the wrong clerk to fuck with and getting shot at, of never seeing him again. "You're a piece of shit, Mickey!"

Mickey was caught off guard when Ian threw a fist, just barely catching him in the jaw. "The fuck, Ian!" he called out in surprise and quickly grabbed both of Ian's wrists before he was hit again.

Ian struggled against him roughly, sobbing. "Fuck you, Mickey! Fuck you!"

Mickey continued to struggle to restrain him, knowing that everything Ian had bottled up in the past couple of weeks was finally erupting. "Ian," he said, his voice much calmer now as they struggled. "Ian, stop! Fucking stop!"

Ian finally relented and stopped trying to hit Mickey. He tore away from Mickey's hold and turned away from him, angrily wiping at his wet cheeks.

Mickey stared at Ian's back, still trying to wrap his head around everything. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room.

Ian inhaled and exhaled deeply before turning around suddenly, his face softened through his tears. "Don't do it, Mickey. Please. Don't do it."

Mickey stared at him, his own chest heavy with raw emotion. His shoulders slumped after a few heartbeats as he stared back at a broken Ian.

"Don't do this," Ian said again, his voice barely above a whisper this time.

Mickey finally reached out his hand and grabbed Ian's. He pulled Ian towards him. He felt resistance at first and then, finally, Ian fell into him and buried his wet face against his neck.

"It's up to me to fix this," Mickey murmured. "I got you in this mess, I'm the one who gotta get you out."

"It's not just up to you. We're both in this. Remember? Just...don't go."

"I won't do it," Mickey finally mumbled against Ian's bare shoulder. He cupped the back of Ian's head and buried his fingers in his hair. "Okay? Alright? I won't do it."

Ian nodded weakly against his neck, his body finally relaxing in Mickey's embrace.

Mickey continued to hold Ian protectively as he cried. He realized, in that moment, that this thing went way beyond just the physical—for both of them—and that scared him a whole hell of a lot more than anything his dad could throw at him.


	18. Quasi

After several minutes, Ian's breathing became less erratic, his sobs finally subsided, and his body grew softer in Mickey's embrace.

"I won't do it, alright?" Mickey murmured against Ian's shoulder, even though he'd already whispered it nearly a dozen times.

Ian finally pulled back from Mickey's embrace, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. "Promise me, Mickey. You won't do anything stupid. Whatever we do, we do it together or not at all."

Mickey didn't like to make promises, mostly because once he gave his word to someone, there was no way in hell he'd back down from it. His word was golden, one of the only things in his life he took seriously.

"I promise."

Ian nodded his head curtly and looked down, sniffling. "You probably think I'm such a fucking kid right now, don't you?"

"You know what I fucking think?" Mickey asked, the words pouring from his mouth before he could process them. "I think you're fucking brave, that's what I fucking think."

Ian sniffed again and then looked into Mickey's eyes. He then laughed dryly, even though there was nothing funny about any of this. "I'm not brave. I'm crying like a little bitch."

Mickey stared back at him, getting the overwhelming urge to kiss him in that moment, but he didn't.

Ian pulled completely out of Mickey's arms and wiped at his face again before stepping around Mickey. He bent down to pick up a wrinkled shirt from the floor and slipped it on.

Mickey thumbed at his bottom lip and stared at the wall, a mixture of emotions rushing through him, emotions he definitely wasn't used to dealing with. He turned and watched as Ian lazily pulled a pair jeans on.

"Why don't we get out of here?" Mickey found himself asking. "For the day, let's just go out and forget all this messed up, fucked up shit, and just take a day to reset or some shit."

Ian sat on the bed as he put on socks, seemingly disinterested.

"Let's go out and see a fucking movie or something, get something to eat, get some fresh fucking air. We've been holed up in this shithole too long," Mickey continued, knowing that a day without worrying about anything was something Ian needed.

After all, as strong as Ian was trying to appear to be, he was just a sixteen-year-old kid at the end of the day—a sixteen-year-old going through some pretty fucked up shit—and that didn't sit too well with Mickey.

Not anymore.

Ian stared back at him for a long time, not saying anything—almost bringing Mickey to the point of snapping—before a smile finally tugged at the corners of his lips. "You mean, like a date?"

Mickey smirked and tilted his head, his eyebrows arching. "No, not like a fucking date. Jesus."

"Well, you said see a movie and get food. . .that kinda sounds like a date to me."

"Fuck off," Mickey said bluntly, before walking to the dresser to grab his cigarettes.

"You know, you always reach for your cigarettes when you're nervous," Ian teased. "It's one of your weird habits I've picked up on the last couple weeks."

"You think you make me nervous?" Mickey asked in Ian's direction over his shoulder, but he didn't dare look him in his eyes.

"I'd like to think I do," Ian said.

Mickey finally caught Ian's eyes with his own, not helping the tug at the corner of his mouth. "Do you want to go or not, fuckwad?"

"Hell yeah, I wanna go," Ian said, the smile Mickey had missed finally returning to his face.

"I'm not holding your fucking hand or anything," Mickey said to Ian's back as Ian went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "And this doesn't mean we're boyfriends either, you hear me? It's just two guys hanging out. That's it."

"Uh huh. Sure, Mickey," Ian called back in a patronizing tone.

"I'm not kidding, Gallagher. This isn't a fucking date."

Ian came out of the bathroom then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked up to Mickey, fisted his shirt with one hand, and pulled him in for a soft, sweet kiss that knocked the breath out of Mickey. "Got it. Not a date."

Mickey remembered how to breathe only after Ian turned his back.

* * *

A little while later, Ian and Mickey found themselves at a movie theater just down the street from their motel room, which was great since they were hoofing it for their 'quasi-date'—as Ian was referring to it by, as per Mickey's compromise.

They had both quickly settled on the newest high-speed action movie that had just been released and, after getting their extra-salted and extra-buttered popcorn and drinks, they plopped down in the plush seats at the very back of the near-empty theater, both of them propping their feet on the backs of the seats in front of them.

Mickey took a sip of his flat soda and snuck a look over at Ian, watching as he shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth, kernels falling all over his chest and lap.

Ian felt he was being watched and looked at Mickey, his cheeks puffed out from his popcorn, but he smiled anyway around his food.

Mickey couldn't suppress his own grin and he shook his head in reproof. "You're a fucking mess, man."

Ian just laughed his goofy laugh and, even as he turned his attention back towards the screen to watch the previews, Mickey's eyes remained on him as the lights dimmed.

Unaware of Mickey's fluttering heart and internal struggle, Ian leaned into him a little, but his eyes remained on the screen. "I don't care how gay it sounds, but I'm so fucking excited to see this movie. Van Damme is the man."

"He's alright," Mickey said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "Steven Seagal is the man though. He would totally kick Van Damme's ass."

"Oh, unless—unless it's Double Impact Van Damme, 'cause that's some Van double _Damme_ !" Ian exclaimed.

Without giving it a second thought, Mickey leaned in and pressed his mouth to Ian's.

It was short, sweet, and to the point. When Mickey pulled away, Ian's eyes were still closed, his lips parted slightly.

"Well then, fuck Van Damme," Mickey said huskily.

Ian finally opened his eyes and stared into Mickey's. His shocked features slowly melted into a smile and he relaxed back into his seat.

Mickey smiled gingerly before taking another sip of his drink.

"Told you this was a date," Ian said coolly before shoving another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

"Fuck you, is what it is." Mickey snapped.

Still, halfway through the movie, Mickey bravely reached over and laced his fingers through Ian's.

* * *

After the movie, which had been well-worth the price of admission—and not just because it was a good fucking movie—the two of them stepped outside, surprised to see that it was actually still daylight outside.

"So, what now?" Ian asked excitedly.

"You hungry? We can go grab something to eat."

"I can eat."

"Yeah, that was probably a stupid fucking question. You're always hungry," Mickey said, but grinned anyway. As they started walking, Mickey looked at Ian out of the corner of his eye, happy to see that he had a smile on his face. It was nice to know that he was able to take Ian's mind off shit for at least a little while.

"So, what are you in the mood for?" Mickey began. "I was kinda thinking about—" He was interrupted when Ian stopped suddenly, grabbing his arm.

"That's it!"

"What? What the fuck is it?" Mickey asked. He then looked in the direction Ian was pointing and he frowned. "What, you want to go to a fucking gay bar?"

Across the street, nestled between a clothing shop and a deli, sat The Ramrod. It was an inconspicuous building, except for the hot pink, fluorescent sign with the silhouette of a naked man in a cowboy hat on it. _Real subtle_.

"You're fucking kidding me, right? When I said go somewhere to eat, I was thinking more along the lines of Chipotle."

Ian looked at him and smirked in amusement. "No, asshole. I'm not thinking about food. I'm thinking about lap dances. . .stripping."

"You want me to walk in that fucking place and get a goddamn lap dance? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about you, and I'm not talking about now."

"So, what the fuck are you talking about then?" Mickey exclaimed, causing a mother with her young daughter to dart around them quickly, shooting accusatory stares in Mickey's direction. Mickey just smirked at them before turning his attention back to Ian.

"I'm a good dancer. I can definitely shake it," Ian said. "I can go in and ask them if I can dance a couple of nights. Tonight is Friday, so if I can just dance over the weekend, I can probably bring in a grand, if not more. We can be home by Monday."

Mickey's eyebrows shot up. "You want to walk up in there and ask them to let you dance? Just like that? What the fuck even makes you think they'd let you?"

"I'm young, I'm a redhead, and I have a hot body. They'd be stupid to turn me away."

Mickey smirked and ran a hand over his mouth, not liking the idea of Ian dancing half-naked in front of old, perverted viagroids. "Nah, come on, man. They'd never let you do it. You gotta be eighteen."

Ian smirked. "You really think they're going to ask questions? A young, hot guy is coming in offering to dance for the weekend. Besides, even if the manager says no at first, I know how to be persuasive." He arched an eyebrow for emphasis.

Mickey's anger simmered deep in the pit of his stomach as he thought about just how far Ian would be willing to go with a stranger to get his way. He shook those thoughts from his head. "Nah, man. Let's just go eat. I'm fuckin' starving," he said, brushing past Ian, fully intent on ending the conversation.

"Mickey," Ian said, grabbing Mickey's arm before he could walk any further. "We really need this money and we're kind of running out of options here. It'll be fine. I'll dance for a few nights and you can be there, keeping an eye on things the whole time. No one will touch me."

Mickey stared back at Ian, wishing he would just let it go, but knowing Ian enough by now to know that he wasn't going to. He also knew they were running out of options, legal ones anyway. He finally sighed and rubbed at his chin. "Alright, fine. If you think it's something you're up for, I can't fucking stop you."

Ian grinned his reassurance.

"But don't think for a second I'm letting you out of my fucking sight. As soon as someone touches you the wrong way, I'm bashing fucking skulls," Mickey said before he could stop himself. He brushed roughly past Ian and continued down the street, suddenly not in the mood to eat.

Ian just watched after him, smiling. Mickey was so hot when he was jealous.


	19. Who Wears Short Shorts

Ian peered slyly over the top of his menu at Mickey. After a long stretch of awkward silence, he decided to just go for it. "Are you alright? You haven't said two words to me since we got here."

"I'm looking at the goddamn menu, is that alright with you?"

"Yeah," Ian said with a sigh, placing his own menu down. "Yeah, it's just that Chipotle's menu isn't really all that intricate and—"

"Fuck off," Mickey said abruptly.

"Okay, will you just tell me what the fuck is going on with you?" Ian exclaimed. "I thought we were having a good day today?"

Mickey continued staring at the same spot on his menu, his anger stewing, wanting to tell Ian exactly why he was pissed. . .because—while Mickey had been thinking about how good of a time he'd been having, how carefree he felt for the first time in such a long fucking time—Ian was only thinking about shaking his ass in other guys faces. _That's_ why he was fucking pissed the fuck off.

Not that he would tell Ian that.

"Is this about the whole me wanting to dance for money thing?"

"The fuck do I care," Mickey said flatly. "Do whatever the fuck you want with your body."

"I intend to," Ian said, unintentionally throwing fuel to the fire.

"Well then, shut the fuck up and let me read the goddamn menu."

Ian sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

* * *

After they ate their meal hastily in silence and left, they made their way back through the blistering cold to their motel room.

"I don't even know what you're upset about," Ian said to Mickey's back, since Mickey was grumpily walking five steps ahead of him. "It's just dancing."

Mickey didn't say anything.

"It's not like I'm going to be shoving my dick in some guy's hole."

"I don't care about you _or_ your dick, Gallagher. Shove it in any fucking hole you want."

"See, that's what I'm talking about!" Ian exclaimed as he took longer strides to catch up to him. "You claim not to care about me or what I do, but it kinda fucking seems like you do. Why else would you get so upset?"

Mickey turned suddenly and grabbed Ian up by the collar of his coat. He pressed him back against the brick building they were in front of. It was dark out and, at the moment, no one was in close proximity to them.

Ian held his breath as he stared back at Mickey, waiting.

Mickey loosened his hands a little, his anger and jealousy dissolving with just one look in Ian's eyes. _Christ, when did he become such a pussy?_ "If you know I fucking care, why the hell would you even suggest it?"

"Because, Mickey. . .I'm just trying to do what's best for us," Ian said, straightening his coat when Mickey let him go. "It's really not that big of a deal. It's just dancing. No one will touch me and you'll be there. It's a lot fucking safer than holding up a gas station at gunpoint!"

Mickey took a couple steps back and let out a sharp exhale, his breath projecting into the cold night air in a white poof.

Ian smiled and stepped towards Mickey. He grabbed him by the front of his coat and pulled Mickey closer. "So, you kinda just admitted you care about me."

"Yeah, what the fuck ever," Mickey said flatly.

"You gonna take it back this time?"

"Fuck you," Mickey said, although his tone remained soft.

Ian snuck his hands inside the top of Mickey's coat and then cupped his hands around Mickey's neck. "You're so hot when you're jealous, you know that," he said, leaning in to whisper his words against Mickey's lips.

"What the fuck," Mickey said in panic as he pulled away and looked around the nearly-deserted street. When he saw that the closest witness was more than two blocks away—an old lady walking her fucking dog with a little sweater—he turned his eyes back to Ian, who was watching him intently.

Ian gasped in surprise when Mickey suddenly pushed him back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

"And you're so fucking hot, even when you're irritating as shit," Mickey whispered back bravely.

Ian smiled as he slowly unzipped Mickey's coat. "Oh, really?"

"Yes fucking really."

"Well, okay then."

Mickey leaned in closer and pressed the palms of his hands against the brick wall behind Ian, caging him in. He touched his forehead to Ian's and bit back a moan as Ian's finger hooked under the waistline of his jeans, tugging him forward a little.

Ian licked his lips and bravely began undoing Mickey's button and zipper. He then angled his head, trailed his nose along Mickey's jaw, and then nipped playfully at Mickey's earlobe. "Looks like you're already ready for me," he murmured hotly into Mickey's ear as he cupped Mickey's erection through his jeans.

"We can't do this here," Mickey murmured back, even though what Ian was doing to him felt so fucking good. Still, it was barely eight o'clock on a Friday night and, even though no one was around at the moment, he knew they couldn't take that chance. He pulled away and zipped himself up.

"Okay, got it," Ian said, his eyes falling to the ground.

Mickey knew Ian felt rejected, so he hooked a finger under Ian's chin and lifted his face up to meet his eyes. "When we get back to the room, alright?"

Ian smiled and nodded curtly, his eyes sparkling, and then he tilted his head to suggest they keep walking.

They fell into step side-by-side this time and when Mickey looked at Ian a little while later, he did a double take. "Jesus, wipe that grin off your face. What the fuck are you so happy about?"

"I get to go back to the room and do dirty things to you later. What's not to be happy about?"

"Jesus."

Ian playfully shoved Mickey with his shoulder and then laughed when Mickey shoved him back.

"Asshole," Mickey said, his own laughter carrying down the street.

Once they neared the gay club, both boys stopped walking, both evenly conflicted over the whole thing, for different reasons.

Ian looked over at Mickey, who was puffing anxiously away at his cigarette, his eyes glued to the ground. "Mick, I don't have to do this. Just say the word and we'll keep walking. We're in this together, right?"

Mickey finally lifted his eyes as he took another hit from his smoke. After a heavy pause, he said, "Nah, man. Do what you gotta do. We need the money and I'm gonna be right there so no one fucks with you. It's cool."

Ian stepped closer and grabbed his hand discreetly. "And you know you don't have to get jealous, Mick. You're the only one I want."

"You can't know that," Mick said almost irritably. "We've only known each other two goddamn weeks."

"I know it," Ian said sternly.

Mickey didn't know how to respond to that, so he just watched as Ian turned and walked into the club, a stream of funky up-tempo pop music pouring out onto the sidewalk. He didn't realize it until a short while later, but he was secretly hoping Ian would come out with news that the manager had turned him down.

Ten minutes later however, Ian came out, his grin wide and his eyes bright and he immediately jumped into a rushed monologue.

"The guy said yes! I didn't even have to persuade him. Not to sound conceited, but he took one look at me and said I'm in. I had to sign a few forms, but I start in an hour and he said I can work through the weekend. Said I'll bring in good business. He didn't even ask how old I was. Isn't that fucking insane?"

"High-larious."

"Look, Mickey, are you sure you're—"

"So, what the fuck are we gonna do for an hour then?" Mickey said, cutting Ian off, wanting to pretend he wasn't as upset as he was. He didn't want to seem like some jealous bitch boyfriend. That wasn't what this was. Ian wasn't his and he had no right telling him what to do.

Ian's shoulders slumped a little and he looked back over his shoulder at the club. "We can probably go in and hang around for a little while until I start. I'm sure there'll be some kind of outfit I'll have to wear."

* * *

A short time later, Mickey loitered awkwardly outside of the employee locker room at the back of the club. He couldn't remember a time when he had been so fucking uncomfortable in his life. The awful music was too loud, the flashing strobe lights were too fucking bright, and a bunch of twinks were dancing atop stages while fat fucking faggots shoved bills down their gay little shorts.

He was going to kill Ian for this.

"Hey, haven't seen you here before. I like 'em a little rough."

Mickey's head shot up, as well as his eyebrows, as he eyed the chubby middle-aged man in front of him. "Excuse me?"

"You wanna take off?" the man asked, purposely wrapping his gross mouth around his straw suggestively. "Go have some fun?"

"What the fu—no, I don't want to fucking take off!" Mickey exclaimed.

Just then, Ian came out of the locker room, eyeing the stranger disdainfully before glancing at Mickey. "Hey, sorry that took so long. Walter was showing me around a bit."

"Oh," the man sneered at the sight of Ian. "You like 'em skinny."

"You wanna fuckin' die," Mickey snapped, advancing on the man.

The man smirked, giving Ian another disapproving look before heading off.

Mickey watched as the man sauntered off. He shook his head incredulously before finally looking at Ian. "I was about two fucking seconds away from ripping that guy's dick off and shoving it up his own ass."

"And here I thought you'd found yourself a new boy toy."

"Fuck outta here with that."

Ian laughed and rubbed Mickey's shoulder, knowing how uncomfortable this all made him. "He just thought you were hot. I can't say I blame him."

Mickey ran a hand through his hair, still smarting from his intense aggravation. He then froze, finally taking in what Ian was wearing. "What the fuck are you wearing? Are you serious right now?"

Ian took a step back and looked down at himself. He had to admit the skin tight gold booty shorts and necklace tie were a bit over the top, but he did feel hot in it. All that training and exercising he had endured over the past several months had done his body good. "What, you don't think I look hot?"

"I think you look fucking ridiculous."

Ian smirked and opened his mouth to retort just as Walter the manager walked out of the locker room, clapping and rubbing his hands together as he looked Ian over in a way that made Mickey sick to his stomach.

"Alright, Curtis, are you ready to show everyone what you got?"

"Let's do it." Ian declared with a determined nod, and started following Walter towards the main floor.

Mickey followed close behind. "_Curtis_?! That your fucking stage name?"

"I didn't want to use my real name," Ian shot back with a roll of his eyes.

Mickey smirked as he followed, his irritation seething.

"This is where you stop, chief," Walter said, suddenly turning to face Mickey.

Mickey heaved a sigh of aggravation as he stopped, watching anxiously as Ian continued on without him. He watched warily as Walter leaned in and whispered something in Ian's ear, to which Ian nodded in response and then climbed up onto the small circular platform.

Mickey shuffled from side to side uncomfortably, already not liking any of this. He eyed the crowd of men surrounding the small stage, already hooting and hollering at Ian before he had even started dancing.

"Fuck," Mickey muttered to himself, running a hand down his face.

"He's fucking hot, isn't he?" the sleazy guy behind Mickey yelled to his friend above the loud music.

"Hell yeah, he is. I wonder where they found him at."

Mickey stood frozen in his spot, his hands clenching and unclenching, trying to keep his cool for Ian's sake. A new song started and he looked up at the stage to find that Ian was starting to get into a sultry groove; his taut, chiseled body glistening against the flashing blues, purples and greens of the twirling strobe lights.

Mickey swallowed the thick lump in his throat as he watched Ian dance, the yells and hollers from the men surrounding him just background noise now. He was transfixed as he watched Ian move expertly to the beat. The guy behind him was right—Mickey gave the douchebag that much—Ian was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Maybe the shorts weren't so bad.

He felt his chest tighten as he continued to watch Ian dance, his face growing hot and his throat feeling tight.

"Look at that tight little ass," the man behind Mickey said lecherously. "With that face and that ass, I don't know which hole I'd rather fuck first."

Mickey abruptly turned around and grabbed the guy up roughly by the front of his shirt, bringing their noses inches apart. "Watch yourself, asshole," he said through clenched teeth.

"What the fuck!" the man choked out, his eyes wide. "Who the fuck are you?"

"The wrong fucking guy to be fucking with, that's who."

"Look, man, I don't know what the hell is going on, but—"

"You say anything like that about him again, I'll rip your balls off and shove them so far down your fucking throat, they'll come outta your ass. Got it?"

Moments later, Mickey was being roughly pulled off the befuddled man by a bouncer.

"You're going to have to go, pal!" the bouncer declared, towering over him. "Now!"

"Relax, Shaft, I'm going!" Mickey spat as he shrugged out of the man's hold. But instead of heading towards the exit, he walked right up the three steps onto the small platform and stopped Ian in the middle of his dance, taking his hand and tugging him off stage.

"Time's up, Flashdance."

"Mickey, what the hell?" Ian asked, looking wildly confused. "What're you doing?"

"We're leaving," Mickey said sternly as he began pulling Ian through the crowd.

"Hey, what the hell's going on?" Walter exclaimed, suddenly sidelining them and placing a hand on Mickey's chest.

"I suggest you take your fucking hand off me," Mickey snapped.

"Curtis agreed to—"

"_Curtis_ is sixteen-years-old," Mickey said through gritted teeth. "You really wanna go there?"

Walter looked surprised and removed his hand from Mickey's chest, before holding his hands up in surrender and stepping back.

"What the fuck are you doing, Mickey?" Ian hissed, his face flush from embarrassment as he tried to pull his arm from Mickey's grasp. "That one guy was about to slip me a fucking hundred dollar bill!"

"I can't fucking do this," Mickey said as he dragged Ian back towards the locker room.

"Mick, would you hold on a goddamn second and fucking talk to me!?"

Once they were by the locker room, where they were secluded and the music wasn't so loud, Mickey turned to Ian and pressed him back against a wall. "I don't want you to do this, alright?" he said, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Ian's. He hated feeling like this—so vulnerable and open and jealous—but he didn't care at this point. "Can you _please_ just go put your fucking clothes back on and let's get the hell out of here?"

Ian swallowed hard and then nodded, realizing that this was important to him. "Yeah, okay. Okay. We can go."

Mickey stepped away and nodded curtly, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Thank you!" Before Ian could turn and disappear through the door, he called out. "And keep those fucking shorts! We're going to need them later."


	20. The Necessary Tools

They stumbled into the motel room—all hands and lips and tongues—not even bothering to turn on the lights. Mickey blindly kicked the door shut behind them, never once breaking their kiss.

Mickey was completely gone. There was no way in hell he was turning back now. Fear, doubt, confusion. . .fuck it all. All he wanted right now was to feel that knot in his belly, and the warm tingly feeling that came with it, as Ian Gallagher kissed him.

"Mickey," Ian whispered huskily as he finally broke the heated kiss that had started as soon as they reached the motel parking lot. "Are you—"

"If you ask me if I'm fucking sure right now, Gallagher, I'll rip your tongue outta your head."

"Well, okay then," Ian said before diving in for another kiss.

They kept their lips locked as they both hastily shrugged out of their coats.

Mickey wrapped an arm around Ian's waist and pulled Ian tighter against him, wanting to feel his body, needing to feel it. Ian felt hard and strong and lean under his hands, and Mickey wanted to feel more of him. He wanted to feel every fucking inch of him.

Ian allowed himself to be guided backwards to the bed and he fell back onto it, pulling Mickey down with him.

Mickey couldn't really believe himself, but they both practically giggled like little bitches as the air was knocked out of them both and their foreheads knocked together painfully.

Ian grunted as he shuffled under Mickey's weight until they fit together just right.

Mickey cupped his hand over the back of Ian's neck, his thumb caressing his cheek, as he leaned down and kissed him thoroughly, loving the way Ian kissed, loving the way he tasted. Mickey had never really been big on kissing. He'd only ever kissed Angie Zago once or twice, but those kisses had been more about just going through the motions and putting on an act. With Ian, he didn't have to act.

He never would have guessed kissing could feel this good.

When Mickey shifted and his knee grazed over Ian's erection, Ian pulled away from the kiss and moaned. "Jesus, Mickey."

"Take off your clothes," Mickey said breathlessly, far past being bashful right now, "but leave the shorts on."

"You and these fucking shorts, I swear to god," Ian teased.

"Now."

Ian didn't have to be told a third time. He sat up eagerly, tearing his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. He then laid back down and lifted his hips, quickly getting his pants off and kicking them away in one fluid motion.

"Christ, I've never seen someone get undressed so fast," Mickey said with a warm smirk.

"I've been waiting for this."

"I can tell."

Ian looked up at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks flushed, his eyes dark with desire.

Mickey stared down at him, the teasing smile slipping from his face as he ran his thumb over Ian's plump bottom lip.

Ian kissed Mickey's thumb and then lightly nipped it.

"Fuck," Mickey breathed out.

"I want you so bad, Mickey," Ian said, reaching up and running his hand through Mickey's hair.

"I want you too," Mickey admitted bravely, his voice raspy with emotion. It was the most honest he'd ever been with anybody, including himself.

"We can't though," Ian continued.

"Why the fuck not? Don't tell me you're backing out on me now, Gallagher."

"No, it's not that, trust me. It's just that. . .we don't have the necessary, um, tools."

"Tools? What kinda fucked up kinky shit were you planning on doing here tonight?" Mickey asked bewilderedly, sitting back a little more.

Ian couldn't help but laugh. "Not actual tools, asshole. I meant condoms. . .lube."

"Oh," Mickey said softly. He rolled to his side and propped himself up on an elbow.

Ian did the same and eyed Mickey, seeing his face just barely in the moonlight filtering in through the cheap curtains. "Can I ask the question now, or are you gonna jump down my throat again?"

Mickey knew there was no turning back now. He mindlessly picked at a loose thread on the comforter, his heart hammering in his throat. "You're going to fucking ask anyway, aren't you?"

Ian opened his mouth three times before the words actually tumbled out. "Have you ever been with a guy before?"

"No," Mickey answered honestly after a long pause.

"You've never even kissed a guy? Never fucked one?"

"What part of fucking no didn't you get?" Mickey said defensively before softening up at the startled look on Ian's face. "No, I've never fucked or kissed a guy before. You happy now?"

"Have you ever thought about kissing and fucking guys, before me?"

Mickey sighed and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He ran a hand over his face. "This is too fucking weird."

"You can be honest with me, Mick. You know that, right? I wouldn't judge you," Ian assured him. "In fact, I'll share with you. I've been with two guys before; Roger Spikey and Kash."

"What the fuck makes you think I wanna talk about the guys you've banged?"

Ian shrugged. "Just sharing."

"Well, stop fucking sharing," Mickey snapped and then said, "Roger fucking Spikey. Really?"

Ian waved his hand dismissively. "Long story."

"Christ." Mickey smarted for a little while longer before finally sighing. He then propped himself up on his elbow again and paused for a long time before saying, "Yeah, I've thought about guys before, alright?"

"So you are. You're gay?"

"Why do people always feel the fucking need to want to label shit? Fuck!" Mickey exclaimed, his defenses kicking back into overdrive.

"Hey," Ian whispered, leaning into him. "It's okay. We don't have to talk about this right now." He then kissed Mickey's cheek. "I'm glad we don't have lube or condoms right now, because I wouldn't want to rush into this anyway. Your first time should be special."

"Was yours?" Mickey asked thickly before he could stop himself.

"No," Ian said simply, his eyes darting away. "It was quick and meaningless, in the gym locker room at school. I didn't care about him." Ian then looked back at Mickey, his expression soft. "If I could go back, I'd take it back and give my first time to you."

Mickey felt so open and vulnerable in that moment. He was torn between throwing himself at Ian and locking himself in the bathroom. Instead, he accepted Ian's soft wet kiss with a soft groan.

Ian deepened the lip lock and kissed him languidly for a few minutes before pulling away, already revving to go again. "There are other things we can do," he said suggestively before moving to kiss his way down Mickey's chest.

"No, wait," Mickey heard himself saying, even though his body was screaming something else.

Ian stopped dipping his tongue in Mickey's belly button and lifted his head, preparing for the worst. "What's wrong?"

"Com'ere," Mickey muttered, grabbing for Ian's hand and pulling him back up to his face. His heart was pounding in his ears and he couldn't really believe what was about to come out of his own mouth. "I want to do something for you tonight," he murmured.

It took a minute for it to dawn on him, but when it did, Ian's eyes grew wide. "No, Mick, you don't have to do that. You've never done that before and, honestly, I wasn't expecting you to do anything."

Mickey just responded by cupping the back of Ian's head and pulling him down for another mind-numbing kiss. He then pulled away, his breathing ragged. "I want to but on one condition." On Ian's nod, he continued, "You gotta dance for me in those shorts, 'cause that was fucking hot."

Ian tossed his head back and let out a goofy laugh. "Christ! I'm beginning to think you only want me for my shorts." He then crawled backwards off the bed and walked over to turn on the lights. What he saw on the bed made his dick twitch.

It was Mickey Milkovich. . .face flushed pink, lips swollen red, desire flashing in his blue eyes, cock at full salute in his jeans. It was a beautiful sight.

"So, you want a dance, huh?" Ian said huskily. He walked over to the small AM/FM radio next to the bed and fumbled with the dial for a minute before settling on a decent song with a beat to dance to.

"Katy Perry, huh?" Mickey asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, you're definitely gay for knowing that."

"Asshole," Mickey said, whipping a pillow at him.

Ian dodged the pillow and laughed before grabbing Mickey's hand. "Get up, tough guy."

Mickey allowed himself to be pulled up, and then he was being pushed roughly into that fucking ugly green chair.

Ian smiled at him lazily. He thought he would feel stupid standing in front of Mickey Milkovich wearing little gold shorts, but, the truth was, he loved the way Mickey's eyes were raking over his body, the telltale bulge in his pants.

"I can't believe I'm about to get a lap dance from a fucking dude," Mickey said as he eyed Ian's abs.

Ian slowly began moving with the beat of the song, expertly rolling his hips. "I can stop if you want me to."

"Fuck no, you ain't stopping," Mickey said, watching as Ian turned around, giving him a nice view of his perfect ass. He licked his lips, forgetting all the other thoughts and doubts flying through his head.

Ian danced for a few more beats before walking over to Mickey. He lowered himself onto Mickey's lap, draping his wrists over the back of the chair. He began torturously grinding his crotch against Mickey's, already feeling that sweet, delicious friction.

Mickey rested his head back and closed his eyes. "Fuck."

"Having fun?" Ian murmured next to Mickey's ear, loving the fact that he was able to turn Mickey on so much, so fast.

Mickey responded by slowly running his hands down Ian's bare back and grabbing and kneading his ass through his tiny shorts, pulling the redhead tighter against him.

Ian gasped at the surprise contact and bit his lower lip. He continued grinding against Mickey, wondering how much he was going to be able to take himself.

"You're so fucking hot," Mickey practically growled into Ian's shoulder.

Ian responded with another moan and shuddered when he felt Mickey nip his shoulder. "Shit, Mickey," he breathed out.

After a few more torturous thrusts, Mickey arched his hips up, motioning for Ian to get off. "Get up," he choked out.

Ian did as he was told, standing up on shaky legs. He barely had enough time to respond before Mickey was pushing him back down on the bed.

Mickey stood over Ian, locking eyes with him as he tore his own shirt over his head, tossing it behind him. He then joined Ian on the bed and swooped down for a searing kiss that stole both of their breaths.

Ian closed his eyes when Mickey began making his descent; dropping soft, wet kisses on his chest and over his abs. He opened his eyes when he felt Mickey hesitate to go any further. "Hey," he said, reaching down and feathering his fingertips over Mickey's cheek. "You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do. I like giving just as much as I like receiving, trust me."

Mickey responded by sitting back and hooking his fingers under the flimsy material of Ian's shorts. He tugged on them, pulling them off when Ian lifted his hips.

Ian held his breath as his cock sprung free and Mickey took in the sight of him, a mixture of emotions showing on his face. For a split second, he thought Mickey was going to back down and his heart stopped. Then his eyes were rolling into the back of his head when Mickey wrapped his hand around the base of his shaft and teased the leaking tip with his tongue. "Oh, fuck," he choked out.

Mickey wasn't used to the taste, but it definitely wasn't unpleasant. He looked up and watched Ian's response, and that gave him the confidence and courage to keep going. He took his time, learning Ian's cock with his mouth and tongue and hand, demonstrating things on Ian that he liked himself. He had no idea if he was doing it right, but he had a pretty good idea by the way Ian was tugging on his hair and moaning that he was doing a pretty good fucking job.

"Keep going," Ian gasped out as he arched his back. "Keep going, just like that. Feels so good, Mickey."

Mickey choked a little and he felt tears stinging the corners his eyes as Ian's dick hit the back of his throat, but he kept going, liking the fact that he was making Ian feel like this. He relaxed his throat and took Ian as deep as he could without choking, allowing Ian to fuck his mouth slowly. He slobbered and licked and sucked, and he knew he was being really fucking sloppy—and that Ian had probably had much better blow jobs before— but Ian didn't seem to mind.

"I'm gonna come," Ian warned. "Fuck, Mickey. Just like that. 'm gonna come."

Mickey thought about pulling back for only a split second before deciding not to. He never took the pussy way out of anything. Without warning, Ian's warm bitter come shot down the back of Mickey's throat and he choked around it as he swallowed it down with a grimace. He continued to bob his head and took everything Ian gave him.

When Ian couldn't take anymore, he grabbed for Mickey's hand, motioning for him to stop.

Mickey pulled away and crawled up to Ian and fell onto his side.

"No way that was your first fucking time," Ian said as he tried to catch his breath.

"Fuck off," Mickey said with an embarrassed chortle. "Trust me, that was the first dick I've ever sucked."

Ian laughed too and leaned down to kiss Mickey. "Thank you," he murmured against his lips.

"You're thanking me for sucking your dick?" Mickey teased, using the joking as a way to cover up his embarrassment and insecurities.

"No," Ian said. "I'm thanking you for opening up to me, for trusting me. . .for saving me."

The small teasing smile slipped off Mickey's face as he stared back at Ian, overcome with an emotion that almost made it hard for him to breathe.

"We've been through a lot these past couple of weeks and I know things have been pretty shitty, but I'm kind of happy it happened, you know? Despite everything else, if you wouldn't have taken me that day, I wouldn't have met you."

Mickey could only stare back at him before smiling softly. He cupped a hand over the back of Ian's head and pulled him in for another kiss. "Com'ere," he whispered just before their lips touched.


	21. The Time We Have

The next morning, Ian woke to find himself wrapped comfortably in Mickey's arms, his cheek pressed warmly against Mickey's chest. He smiled softly to himself, thinking it was a much better way to wake up than he had any other day for the past two and a half weeks. In fact, he wouldn't mind waking up like this every day forever, maybe.

He closed his eyes and relaxed, not wanting to move a muscle, afraid he'd wake Mickey and scare him away. He wanted to savor this for just a little while longer before the other shoe inevitably dropped again.

He curled his fist against Mickey's chest and concentrated on the steady beating of Mickey's heart as he teetered on the edge of sleep.

"You awake?" Mickey asked, his voice husky.

Ian's eyes flew open and he couldn't suppress his grin, embarrassingly giddy to find that Mickey had been awake all along, perfectly okay with Ian in his arms, their legs entwined, maybe even okay with Ian's drool on chest. He lifted his head and gazed into Mickey's sleepy eyes, his grin still wide. He couldn't help it.

"'Morning."

Mickey stared back at him, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Hey," he said, his voice deep. He began to lazily feather his fingertips over Ian's bare shoulder. "So, on a scale from one to ten, how fucking gay is all this?"

Ian pretended to think it over and narrowed his eyes. "Cuddling? Mm, pretty gay. Probably a nine."

Mickey chuckled and was immediately hushed when Ian leaned up and kissed him softly. "Aye, at least brush your fucking teeth before you go attacking me," he teased when Ian pulled back.

Ian licked playfully at Mickey's lips and then snickered when Mickey made a face, pretending to be disgusted. He then kissed Mickey's cheek and then dropped a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"Jesus," Mickey murmured warmly.

"Sorry, can't help it," Ian murmured back as he peppered Mickey's face with soft, sweet, playful kisses. "I like your face."

When Ian finally pulled back a little to glance down at him, Mickey swallowed thickly before saying, "yeah?" On Ian's nod, he said, "I like your face, too."

Ian smiled and moved to Mickey's mouth for a deeper kiss. In one swift motion, Mickey turned them so that Ian was now on his back.

Mickey deepened their kiss as he playfully slid his hands down Ian's sides, finding his wrists. He brought Ian's arms up and pinned his hands to the mattress as he swung his leg to straddle him.

"Not so shy anymore, huh?" Ian teased.

Mickey stared down at Ian as he straddled him. He could already feel his cock responding, thinking Ian looked so fucking hot beneath him, all flushed and dazed and sleepy-eyed.

Ian arched his back as Mickey slowly began grinding against him. They were both wearing cotton boxers, but the friction felt incredible. "Fuck, Mickey," he choked out.

"I can't help myself around you," Mickey rasped as he continued grinding against Ian, still pinning him to the mattress. "Trust me, I fucking tried." He leaned down and captured Ian's bottom lip in his mouth, tugging it playfully with his teeth.

Ian was gasping and sputtering as Mickey continued his slow, torturous thrusts. "I could definitely get used to this more uninhibited version of you," he choked out.

Mickey kissed his way to Ian's ear and whispered hotly, "how does that feel?"

"It feels fucking incredible," Ian choked out, his teasing mood completely out the window. He knew he probably sounded like a blubbering idiot right about now, but he didn't fucking care.

Mickey bit his lower lip and stifled a moan of his own. He didn't quite know what exactly had gotten into him. All he knew was that he was fucking hot for Ian Gallagher and he was done being shy about it. Of course, he felt fucking ridiculous doing and saying these things to Ian, but, right now—with the sounds Ian was making and the faces he was pulling—he didn't really give a flying fuck.

"Touch me, Mickey," Ian begged.

Mickey moved off Ian and relaxed on his side. Bravely, he ran his fingertips over Ian's chest and chiseled stomach and then lower still. He watched Ian's face the whole time, enthralled by him; the way his lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, the beads of sweat forming along his hairline.

"How's that feel?" Mickey asked as he rubbed Ian through his boxers.

"So fucking good," Ian managed to choke out as he arched his back.

Mickey, never once looking away from Ian's face, removed Ian's rock hard cock from his boxers and stroked him, much like he would stroke his own cock. He liked that he was the one making Ian feel like this, sound like this.

Ian opened his dark eyes and stared at Mickey hazily. He reached forward, grabbing Mickey by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a searing kiss, his teeth tugging and nipping at Mickey's lips.

Mickey moaned into Ian's mouth as his continued stroking his cock, wanting to bring him over that edge. Bringing Ian Gallagher to orgasm was now his favorite thing to do, he decided.

"Fuck, Mickey," Ian groaned just as his hot come spurted all over Mickey's hand. He panted and gasped and clung to him, digging his fingers into flesh as he caught his breath before glancing sheepishly at him. "You're way too fucking good at that."

Mickey cracked a smile. "I've had a lot of practice on myself over the years." He then dropped his head and whispered, "fuck," for sounding so fucking lame. But, then again, Ian Gallagher had the uncanny ability to bring out his lameness.

Ian pulled Mickey to him so that he was now cuddled against Ian's chest. He wrapped his arms around Mickey, loving the way he felt in his arms. "This too gay for you?"

"Borderline, but it's cool," Mickey murmured against Ian's skin.

Ian smiled and pressed a kiss into Mickey's hair. After awhile, his smile faded as the doubts began setting in. He didn't want to think about any of it, but—with Mickey lying in his arms so contently—he couldn't stop himself from thinking about how everything would inevitably change once they got home.

He wasn't naïve enough to believe that they could be a couple back home, if that was even what Mickey wanted. Hell, who knew. . .maybe this was just a fling to Mickey, something to pass the time until they went back to good ol' Canaryville.

The doubts, fears, and pessimistic thoughts muddling his mind completely deflated his mood and he motioned for Mickey to get up.

"The fuck?" Mickey asked, looking put off. "What's wrong?"

"I gotta piss," Ian grumbled as he headed towards the bathroom.

Mickey watched after him, frowning at the sudden shift in Ian's mood. He crawled off the bed and followed Ian into the bathroom. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb. "Fuck's up with you?"

Ian finished his business and went about washing his hands. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Can't a guy take a piss?"

"Hey," Mickey said, stepping further into the bathroom and gripping Ian's shoulder to turn him. "Talk to me."

"Oh, now you wanna talk?" Ian snapped. "I figured this was how you'd want it? We'd fool around and then go on, acting like nothing happened? Isn't that what you wanted?"

Mickey dropped his hand away from Ian's shoulder and took a step back, feeling his own irritation bristling. "Really? We're back to that?"

Ian dried his hands and then turned to Mickey with a resigned sigh. "Look, Mickey, this is fun and all, but you said it yourself—we're not here for this. And we both know, once we get back home, it's going to end. I'm just—"

Mickey watched as Ian paused, his eyes darting everywhere but at Mickey. His eyebrows shot up as he impatiently waited for Ian to continue. "Just what?"

"I'm already in too deep and I'm just trying to limit the fallout here."

"The fuck's that even mean?"

Ian finally looked at him as his shoulders sagged. "Nevermind. . .forget it." He tried to walk around him, but Mickey wasn't having it.

"I don't fucking think so, Ian," Mickey said, holding a hand to Ian's chest, stopping him. "For the past two fucking weeks, I've tried to get your ass to shut up, you're not shutting up on me now."

"Oh, so because it's you that suddenly wants to talk, now I have to talk? Fuck that."

"Say what you want, but you're not leaving this fucking bathroom until you talk to me."

"Just drop it, Mickey."

"I'm not fucking drop—"

"I'm falling in love with you, alright?" Ian finally spat. "Alright? I'm in too fucking deep as it is and. . .and I don't want to go home in a few days and. . .I'm not fucking stupid, okay? I know what's going to happen. I know you and me can't happen."

Mickey removed his hand from Ian's chest, his words knocking the wind out of him.

Ian stared back at Mickey, his eyes brimming with tears. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and then turned abruptly to the side, wishing he could take it all back. "Fuck!"

Mickey dropped his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, not knowing how to process any of this. Finally, he said, "I don't know what you want me to say here."

"Look, I'm not expecting you to say anything, okay?" Ian said, his voice shaking.

"I never expected any of this to happen," Mickey continued, feeling numb. "I just."

Ian nodded his head curtly and wiped quickly at the corner of his eye, refusing to cry. "Look, I don't expect you to feel the same, alright? I know you don't feel the same. I just want you to be honest with me." He waited for Mickey's hesitant nod. "Nothing can happen between us when we get home, right?"

Mickey avoided Ian's eyes and he rubbed a thumb over his lower lip, wanting to say so much more, but only this came out, "I won't be able to give you what you want."

"Yeah," Ian said sadly. "Yeah, I know."

Mickey let out an unsteady breath as he continued to rub at his lip.

"So, what do we do here?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Mickey said, suddenly in desperate need of a cigarette. He turned and left the bathroom, reaching for his cigarettes on the dresser and lighting one with an unsteady hand.

Ian stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him.

"Should we fucking stop or what?" Mickey finally asked, turning to face Ian full on. "What do you want?"

"I don't want to stop," Ian said.

"Well, it's either we stop right now before things get worse, or we continue this—whatever the fuck this is—for a few more days and then go home."

"Go home and pretend we don't matter to each other?" Ian asked, sounding hurt.

"Christ, Ian, what the fuck do you want me to say? Help me out here!"

Ian ran a hand over his head and let out a watery sigh as he looked towards the window, his face showing his conflicted emotions. "I don't know," he finally said. "All I know is that. . .if all I can have with you is a few more nights, then I'll take it."

Mickey stared at Ian, his chest tightening, wanting to tell Ian that he felt the same exact way about him. But he couldn't. Because Ian was right. . .once they were back home, there was no way they could ever be together. Not really. It just wasn't something that was possible in Mickey Milkovich's fucked up, miserable life. Not with his homophobic father and brothers around, not living in that fucked up neighborhood. It just wasn't something he'd ever even considered for himself, because it was just fucking impossible. Love had no place in Mickey's life.

Ian ran a hand over his face, sniffed back his tears, and then looked at Mickey. "So, we have a few more nights together, until we go back?"

Mickey nodded curtly, his eyebrows lifting. "Yeah."

"Then I guess that's how it has to be," Ian said sadly.

Mickey took a few steps towards him, but stopped before reaching him. "Look, I'd give you more if I could," he admitted openly, the only thing he could admit right now. "It's just. . .I can't."

"Right, yeah, I know," Ian said, hanging and shaking his head.

Mickey finally closed the gap between the two of them and grabbed Ian's hand, pulling Ian against him. "We can stretch this out a little longer, after we get all the money. We can stay a few extra nights."

Ian nodded, knowing that would never be enough for him, but it was all they were ever going to get.

"Okay? Alright?" Mickey said, hooking his finger under Ian's chin to bring their eyes together. "Let's just take advantage of the time we have."

"Okay," Ian said, forcing a gentle smile before leaning in and hugging Mickey, the smile slipping off his face when he propped his chin on Mickey's shoulder.


	22. Limited Time Only

Ian and Mickey leisurely made their way through the aisles of the grocery store, having finally given in to the fact that it was time to stock up on some things. As they playfully knocked their hips together and argued over which potato chips to buy or who got the unfortunate task of pushing the cart, neither one of them wanted to think too much about how good or natural it felt just being together like this.

They were both fully and painfully aware of the fact that this thing between them was a limited-time deal and, while they both fully intended on taken advantage of that fact for the next few days, they didn't want to look too much into the emotional aspect of it all.

Because no matter how natural it seemed, or how content they felt, or how happy both of them were for the first time in a long fucking time, none of that mattered.

It couldn't matter.

Mickey was pushing the cart through the frozen food section—having lost to Ian in a game of rock-paper-scissors for cart pushing duty—and watched as Ian tossed a pint of ice cream into the cart. "The fuck you need ice cream for?"

"I like ice cream, thank you!"

"Mint fucking chip, though? At least get something I like too."

"Who said I was sharing with you, huh?" Ian asked with a playfully arched eyebrow before laughing at Mickey's unamused expression. "Fine, asshole. Which ice cream do you want?"

Mickey perused the wide selection of limited-time flavors. "I'll take the carrot cake one. Sounds pretty good."

"Carrot cake, huh?" Ian asked with a teasing smirk.

"Just put the fucking ice cream in the cart, Jesus."

Ian grabbed the ice cream from the freezer and tossed it into the cart, along with the other wide variety of junk food they really shouldn't be eating. Ian knew, once he was back home, he was going to have to work extra hard on his training to get back into shape again. That thought alone was enough to send his good mood crashing, and he tried to shake it off. He didn't want to think about home right now, because being home meant being without Mickey.

"Aye, what's wrong?" Mickey asked, already fully aware of Ian's sudden mood shifts. It was so fucking weird how much you could learn about someone just by being with them 24/7 for two and a half weeks straight.

"Nothing," Ian said, pretending to now look at the frozen breakfast pastries.

"Goddamn liar," Mickey muttered but left it at that. He knew it was best to not delve into personal feelings. "You're not getting fucking Toaster Strudels, man. It's Pop-Tarts or nothing. Fuck that fancy shit."

Ian smirked at him over his shoulder.

They finished in the food section and made their way to the checkout line, passing the personal care section on the way.

Ian stopped walking suddenly and snuck a tentative glance back at Mickey. "Um, should we—?"

"Should we what?" Mickey asked, raising his eyebrows.

Ian nodded his head for Mickey to follow him down the aisle.

Mickey was about to open his mouth to ask Ian what his malfunction was, since he was smooth like that, but he paused when he saw where Ian had led him to. His eyes scanned over the wide variety of condoms, personal lubricants, and stimulators. _Why the fuck did they feel the need to sell vibrating stimulators in the middle of a grocery store, for fuck's sake?_

Ian was nervously rubbing his palms on his jeans as he snuck a look over at Mickey. "Maybe we should get something, you know, just in case. I mean, no pressure or anything. I don't want you to think I'm forcing the issue. I mean, if you want to _do_ it, I'm totally cool with that; but if you don't want to, I'm totally cool with that too, so you—"

"Ian, shut the fuck up already. Holy shit."

"Yeah, okay."

Mickey shook his head in reproof before looking back at the condoms. "What kind should we get?" he asked, never in a million years thinking he would be standing in front of a condom display, discussing which condoms to buy with a fucking dude. But he knew Ian was definitely more than just a dude to him. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and frowned at the selection.

"Well, we have latex, non-latex. Textured, ribbed, ultra thin, flavored—"

"Don't they just have a regular fucking condom you can slap on your dick, the fuck," Mickey exclaimed, causing a man walking past to eye them wearily. "Hi, hello! Can I help you?!"

The man ducked his head, picked up speed, and rounded the corner.

Mickey rolled his eyes and then went back to the condoms. He scanned the selection once more before picking one and slapping it to Ian's chest. "Here. That's fine. Let's go."

Ian looked down at the pack of condoms, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Magnum, huh? You tryna tell me something?"

Mickey knew he was blushing, even though he would never fucking admit that he was blushing. "Fuck you, now let's go. Our fucking ice cream is gonna melt."

Ian followed after him with a grin.

* * *

Ian wanted to fuck Mickey. He really, really wanted to fuck him.

They had gotten back from their grocery excursion in one piece, and were now lazily reclined on the bed, both of them eating their half-melted ice cream before it was completely unsalvageable.

Ian was going crazy. While Mickey's stare was solely focused on the TV screen, he couldn't help but watch Mickey's mouth as it curled around his spoon, his tongue lapping at his ice cream. It was pure torture on Ian's part, so much so that he had to place a pillow over his lap.

He knew they were wasting precious time here. They only had a limited amount of time left before they had to go back to reality, and eating fucking ice cream and listening to Tim Allen grunt wasn't exactly what he wanted to be doing right now. Still, he didn't broach the topic, because he wanted Mickey to be the one to bring it up. It was so fucking frustrating.

Mickey looked over at Ian to find him staring. "The fuck're you looking at?"

Ian couldn't take it any longer. "This really what you wanna be doing right now?" he asked, waving his spoon in the air. "We could be taking advantage of this time by fucking and you want to be sitting here, eating ice cream and watching fucking Home Improvement?"

Mickey stared back at him before grinning. He reached behind him, placing his ice cream down on the table next to the bed. "I was waiting for you to say something, asshole," he said, before leaning over and crushing his carrot-cake-flavored lips against Ian's mint-flavored ones.

Ian moaned through the sweet and sticky kiss, blindly reaching back and putting his own ice cream down. He reclined back, allowing Mickey to crawl on top of him. They lazily kissed for several minutes, making out and groping each other like horny teenagers (which, okay, they were) and getting lost in the moment, taking their time.

Mickey was the first to pull back and he stared down at Ian. He ran his right hand over Ian's hair and then trailed his fingertips over Ian's cheek.

"I want you, Mickey," Ian said, all teasing aside. "I want you but we don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

Mickey continued looking down at him, his blue eyes intense. "I know," he finally said. He then pulled away and stood up, making his way to the table and rummaging through the bags before he found the condoms and lube. He walked back to the bed, his whole body shaking as he sat down.

Ian sat up on an elbow and kissed Mickey's shoulder, wanting to give Mickey as much time as he needed. "We can just do other stuff, Mick."

"No," Mickey said without any hesitation. "I wanna do this. You said my first fucking time should be special, right?"

Ian nodded, his mouth still pressed against Mickey's shoulder. "You sure it will be special with me?"

Mickey looked down at him with a smirk. "That's a stupid fucking question, if I ever heard one."

Ian's breath was stolen away from him when Mickey leaned down and kissed him tenderly, both of them melting back into the pillows, Ian on the bottom.

Mickey began grinding languidly against Ian, both of them getting hard at the contact.

"Maybe we should get naked," Ian rasped out, unable to wait much longer.

"Alright," Mickey choked back before getting off the bed, Ian following. They stood face to face as they undressed, their fingers fumbling and their sharp breaths cutting through the quiet.

Finally, they were both completely naked, standing in front of each other, both too afraid to move, afraid to take the initiative.

Ian moved first, reaching up to cup Mickey's cheek with his hand. "I love you, Mickey," he said before stopping himself, the words just tumbling out of his mouth as if they were just meant to, like breathing.

Mickey sucked in a sharp breath and went still, but then finally relaxed as Ian continued to stroke his face. He reached up and grabbed Ian's wrist before taking that final step towards Ian. He wrapped his other tattooed hand around Ian's neck and pulled him in for a slow kiss, wanting to pour everything he felt for Ian into it, since he couldn't say the words.

Ian kissed Mickey back just as slowly, his teeth playfully nipping at his lips. Unable to hold back any longer, he eased Mickey backwards onto the bed and then pulled back from the kiss as he sat back between Mickey's legs. "The moment you feel uncomfortable, let me know, okay?"

Mickey nodded his head, realizing he was speechless as he watched Ian begin stroking himself. He wouldn't be able to speak even if he could find the words. He had always expected his first time to be messy, meaningless, and quick . . . never this.

Ian kept his eyes locked on Mickey's as he grabbed the bottle of lube and squirted some into his palm. "You okay?"

Mickey nodded his head in reassurance and then hissed when he felt a cold, wet finger teasing the rim of his asshole.

"Remember," Ian said, his voice low and husky, but reassuring. "I'll stop as soon as you think I crossed a line."

Mickey just nodded again, words somehow foreign to him at the moment. He then bit his lip and arched when he felt Ian's finger slip inside of him. He exhaled sharply.

Ian continued watching him as he angled his finger in and out of Mickey slowly before cautiously adding a second one. As he fingered Mickey with one hand, he used his other to slowly stroke Mickey's cock. He moaned at the way Mickey was reacting to him. It was singularly the most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed in his whole sixteen years of life, and he knew he'd never forget it.

Even if they never had anything else, they'd always have this night.

"Ian," Mickey moaned as Ian continued to scissor his fingers and stretch him slowly, preparing him as best he could.

"Feel good?" Ian murmured.

Mickey could only nod and swallow thickly.

Ian angled his fingers until he found that spot, the spot that caused Mickey to dig his head into the pillow and exhale sharply, a tremor rolling though him. He gingerly removed his fingers from Mickey and grabbed for the condom. Still watching as Mickey eyed him lustfully, Ian rolled the condom on and then lubed himself up liberally, wanting to make this as least painful as he could.

"Com'ere," Ian said, grabbing him by his hands and pulling Mickey up to him.

Mickey accepted Ian's kiss hungrily, their rock hard cocks between them, both of them ready for this.

Ian held Mickey against him on his lap as they continued kissing, giving the other man time to back out if he wanted to. Finally, he pulled away from the kiss and motioned for Mickey to turn around and get on all fours.

Mickey complied and exposed himself to Ian, pressing his cheek into the pillow.

Ian grabbed Mickey's hip with one hand, his cock in the other. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Mickey managed to choke out.

Ian dug his fingers into Mickey's thigh as he slowly pressed forward, gently easing just the tip of his dick into the puckered hole. He immediately felt Mickey clench around him and he groaned.

Mickey was gasping with his face buried in the pillow as Ian carefully eased his way in. When Ian paused and asked if he wanted him to keep going, he simply nodded his head, unable to form any words.

Ian gripped Mickey's hips as he fully buried his dick inside him, already close to the edge as Mickey clenched and shuddered around him. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss between Mickey's shoulder blades. "Tell me when you're ready, Mick," he murmured.

Mickey just nodded his go ahead.

Ian sat back, gingerly holding onto Mickey by the waist, as he pumped in and out slowly, wanting to take his sweet time, not wanting to hurt Mickey at all and also wanting to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Mickey turned his head and panted out a curse as Ian slowly made love to him, making sure not to go too hard or too fast, whispering to Mickey reassuringly. He practically whimpered when Ian reached down and grabbed his leaking cock, stroking it in time with the slow thrusts he made inside of him.

"You feel so good, Mickey. So good," Ian murmured as he brought them both closer to orgasm.

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut, finally starting to feel the pleasure through the pain, and he let out a gasp when Ian found that spot inside of him again. "Fuck," he gasped into his pillow as Ian continued to rub against that spot with every deep, slow thrust, his hand still working on Mickey's cock.

Ian stared down at where he and Mickey were connected, watched as his dick slid in and out of the other boy, loving the sounds Mickey was making and the way his back arched, meeting him slowly thrust for thrust. He dug his fingers into Mickey's hips as his orgasm rolled through him suddenly. He shuddered and quaked and panted as he tried to bring himself back down, intent on finishing Mickey.

"Come for me, Mick," he stammered as he pumped Mickey's cock.

"Mhmn," Mickey choked out as he gripped the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. His orgasm rolled through him without warning, sending waves of pleasure coursing from his head to his toes. He gasped and arched and cried out as he came, never wanting it to fucking stop.

Ian rode it out for a few more thrusts before slowly and gently easing out of Mickey. He rolled the condom off, tossed it to the floor, and then collapsed against Mickey's back, their sweaty bodies molding together perfectly.

Mickey panted into his pillow for a few more heartbeats before turning his gaze to meet Ian's.

Ian smiled at him in a daze and reached up to run his hand through Mickey's sweaty hair. "You okay?"

Mickey closed his eyes and took in a few gulps of air before saying, "I'm fucking better than okay."

"Oh, he speaks!" Ian exclaimed playfully before leaning in to peck Mickey on the lips. When he tried to pull away, however, Mickey pulled him in for a deeper kiss that stole Ian's breath away.

When they pulled back, they relaxed side by side facing each other, neither one of them saying anything for a long time, neither one of them having to.

* * *

Mickey woke up sometime later in the middle of the night and found himself spooned back against Ian, Ian's arm lazily draped over his middle. He looked over his shoulder at Ian's sleeping face and watched him for a few heartbeats before pulling Ian's arm gingerly away from his body, not wanting to wake him.

He sat up and ran a hand through his mussed hair, needing a cigarette in the worst way. Careful not to disturb Ian, he got off the bed and quietly maneuvered his way around the room, pulling on his jeans and coat, and grabbing his cigarettes from the dresser before going outside, pulling the door softly shut behind him.

As he fumbled with his pack of smokes, he thought back to earlier—the way Ian had been so sweet and gentle with him, giving him the best orgasm of his life. He thought about how he had felt as Ian made love to him, as if he were the most important person on the fucking planet. He felt loved and needed for the first time in his life. And, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he knew what love for another person felt like.

He finally lit his cigarette with shaky hands and took a long, satisfying drag. And then another. And another. It wasn't until he was almost finished with his cigarette, that he realized there were hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and let out a choked sob.

He knew, in just a short time, it would all be over. Whatever small taste of love or happiness or contentment he had gotten in these past two and a half weeks, didn't matter.

He was fucked for life.


	23. Wake Me Up

Mickey felt the soft, teasing kisses on his upper thigh before he even opened his eyes. He sighed dreamily and arched against Ian's mouth. This definitely wasn't a bad fucking way to wake up.

He opened his eyes into slits and watched through his eyelashes as Ian dragged the tip of his tongue up his thigh, coming deliciously close to his cock, before pulling away teasingly.

Ian's eyes were on his, flashing with desire. "You have the sexiest thighs, you know that? I just want to bite 'em," he said and then he did just that. He nuzzled his head between Mickey's thighs, brushing soft moist kisses against his skin.

"Forget fucking Folgers, man. This is the best part of waking up," Mickey murmured sleepily as he tangled his fingers through Ian's hair.

"Jesus. . .and you say my jokes are bad."

"Bite me."

"Okay," Ian said, nipping playfully at Mickey's thigh again.

Mickey bit his bottom lip and let out a small puff of laughter.

Ian grinned up at him. "'Morning."

Mickey grabbed him under his arms and tugged Ian up to him. He let out a huff of air when Ian fell against him. "'Morning to you," he rasped as his eyes searched Ian's face. Ian always looked so fucking cute first thing in the morning. It was fucking ridiculous. His cock twitched against Ian's thigh in response.

"Did I wake you up?" Ian purred with fake innocence as he reached between them and stroked Mickey's cock.

"With your tongue inches from my fucking dick? Um, yeah."

Ian smiled lazily and dropped his eyes to Mickey's lips as he continued to stroke him. "Sorry."

"Uh huh. Sure you are," Mickey murmured, his heart pounding in his throat and his breathing unsteady as Ian continued stroking him.

"So, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Mickey rasped. "I'm okay."

"No regrets about last night?"

"No, no regrets."

"So, are you ready for seconds, or are you still sore?"

"Cutting right to the fucking chase now?" Mickey said, snorting in amusement.

Ian just grinned.

"I think I can go for round two," Mickey muttered, dropping his eyes to Ian's lips once again.

Ian grinned wider and pulled away from Mickey, reaching over him to grab the lube and condoms from the bedside table. He kept his eyes on Mickey's as he sat back and stroked himself to full hardness and then slid the condom on.

Mickey watched him, just the sight of Ian stroking himself enough to make him rock-hard.

Ian gave Mickey a tentative smile as he squirted lube into his hand. He reached down and slid two slick fingers into Mickey, knowing he was still stretched from the night before and wouldn't need much prep.

Mickey let out a groan and spread his legs a little wider, still trying to get used to it all. It hurt so fucking good.

"I wanna fuck you face-to-face," Ian said, moving his fingers in and out slowly, stretching him. "Is that okay? I promise I'll take it easy."

Mickey stared up at Ian through hooded eyes, never expecting to be the submissive one in a sexual relationship, but he kinda fucking loved it. "Yeah. Yeah, do whatever you want."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

"Gallagher, just shut up and get on me."

Ian smiled again as he removed his fingers. He propped a pillow under Mickey's ass, angling him just right, and then positioned himself. He leaned into Mickey and kissed him thoroughly, trying to take Mickey's mind off the fact that he was pushing his way inside him.

Mickey groaned into Ian's mouth and dug his fingers into Ian's back as that still unfamiliar pain and burning surged through him.

Ian groaned when he bottomed out, and he pulled away from the kiss so that he could stare down into Mickey's eyes. He smoothed Mickey's hair back lovingly.

Mickey stared back as he panted and tried to relax against the intrusion.

"You alright?" Ian whispered as he leaned down and pressed his lips against Mickey's sweaty forehead.

"I think so," Mickey murmured back. "Just trying to get used to having a dick up my ass."

Ian kept his lips pressed to Mickey's forehead and smiled against his skin as he began slowly moving in and out of him, rolling his hips and keeping his thrusts slow and measured.

Mickey slid his arms under Ian's armpits and held him like a vise, his whole body tingling and constricting and tightening as Ian filled him completely with every thrust.

Ian dug his face in the crook of Mickey's neck as he made love to him, trying to savor every second of it.

Mickey was already close. He could feel Ian hitting that spot inside of him, and the friction between their bodies pressed together was enough to stimulate his cock. He'd never felt anything like this before, never thought sex could be like this.

"So good. You're perfect," Ian murmured against Mickey's neck as he continued his even thrusting. He dropped wet kisses on Mickey's damp skin, and then licked his way up his neck slowly, back to Mickey's mouth. Their lips met in a searing kiss as their emotions overcame them, and Ian picked up his pace a little, still being careful not to hurt the man beneath him.

Mickey groaned and clung to Ian for dear life as they kissed hungrily, as best they could through their panting and gasping. Mickey came first this time, his orgasm washing through him, causing his whole body to freeze and then shudder, a cry falling from his mouth and he bit into Ian's shoulder hard without meaning to.

Ian continued thrusting as he pulled back to watch Mickey experience his orgasm. It was enough to send him over the edge, and he lost all control and tumbled over with a satisfying cry.

Ian rode his orgasm out and then fell into a sweaty heap beside Mickey, a wide satisfying grin spreading across his sweaty face. "That was fucking amazing."

Mickey struggled to catch his breath as he stared blankly up at the ceiling, his emotions running wild.

Ian propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at Mickey's face. "Tell me again why we haven't been doing that this whole time?" He searched Mickey's face and then his smile faded when he realized Mickey wasn't in a joking mood. "Mick, what's wrong?" he asked, suddenly worried that Mickey wanted to take it all back.

Mickey turned his head and locked eyes with Ian. It looked like he wanted to say something really important but, instead, he just let out a resigned sigh and wiped his hand down his sweaty face. "Nothing's wrong. Just trying to catch my breath."

Ian didn't know if he believed him, but decided not to press for answers. He leaned down and kissed Mickey softly before pulling away. "I need to go take a shower after all that." He got up and paused in the bathroom doorway, peering over his shoulder seductively. "You wanna join me?"

"Nah, man. You go ahead," Mickey said as he sat up, reaching for his smokes.

Once he heard the shower turn on, he relaxed back against the headboard and let out a shaky exhale.

This whole time, he had been afraid that Ian was going to be the one getting in too deep, making things harder than they had to be. He never would have guessed it would be him, in the end, that was dreading the goodbye.

* * *

After they were both showered and dressed, Ian joined Mickey at the table, leaned over his shoulder, and stole a bite of his Pop-Tart.

"Do you fucking mind?" Mickey scolded playfully, grabbing his precious pastry back from Ian and swatting his hand away. "You don't touch a man's fucking Pop-Tarts. Fuck's wrong with you?"

Ian held his hands up in surrender with a goofy laugh. His face then turned serious as he sat down and eyed the money sprawled out in front of them. "So, how much we got?"

"A little less than eight grand," Mickey said with a sigh as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Okay, so we need two thousand. Great. How the fuck're we gonna come up with that kinda cash? We've run out of ideas."

Mickey reclined back in his chair and ran a hand through his damp hair. "I don't fucking know, man. Maybe we can sell our fucking sperm or some shit."

"Nah, you don't really make that much doing that," Ian said thoughtfully as he picked Mickey's Pop-Tart back up, taking another bite, to which Mickey said nothing. "We would have to each jerk off about fifty times to make enough money."

On Mickey's arched eyebrow, Ian explained, "Lip and I donated sperm more times than I can count to contribute to the squirrel fund. We had to make money for the electric bill somehow."

"Fuck, then I got nothing," Mickey said, leaning back in his chair and slapping the handful of cash he held in his hand on the table in irritation. "Maybe we can just head back in a couple days and I can sell some coke or some shit. Lay low for a few days so my dad doesn't find me before I can get all the money."

"No fucking way," Ian said, shaking his head profusely. "I don't want you doing that."

"You're kidding, right?" Mickey asked incredulously. "You do know I sell that shit on the regular, right? Why do you always turn that shit into a big deal? It's not a big fucking deal."

"Yeah, maybe it isn't to you, but that doesn't mean you have to keep doing it."

"Christ," Mickey said, running a hand down his face. "Is this going to turn into another fucking Dr. Phil moment?"

Ian frowned. "Sorry I fucking care, Mickey. Sorry I don't want to sit back and watch you do stupid shit and ruin your life."

"Are we seriously fucking back to that?" Mickey asked irritably. "What's the big fucking deal? It's not like we're going to be in each other's lives after this anyway. What the fuck's it to you what I do with my goddamn life?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. The look on Ian's face instantly made him want to punch a fucking wall.

"You're right," Ian said flatly after a drawn out pause, his jaw tight. "You're right. Once we're back home, you can do whatever the fuck you want to, Mickey. Sell drugs, go to prison, kidnap some more people while you're fucking at it. Why the fuck should I care, right? I'm nothing to you. I'm just a warm mouth, some fucking guy you're fucking for the next few days."

Mickey watched as Ian abruptly stood up and moved to walk away. He reached out desperately, grabbing Ian's hand and stopping him. He sighed and pulled Ian's hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it softly. He knew it was such a gay fucking thing to do, but he couldn't stop himself. He sighed and then pressed his forehead to Ian's hand.

"I didn't fucking mean that," he murmured, his words barely audible.

Ian stared down at him, surprised by the tenderness Mickey was showing him. "Just because we're not going to be together, Mickey, doesn't mean I'm not going to still care. I hate it. I fucking hate the thought that I'm not going to know what you're up to, what your fucking dad is going to have you do next."

Mickey didn't say anything, just continued holding Ian's hand to his forehead, his eyes still closed tight, his breathing unsteady.

Ian sat back down in the chair and leaned towards Mickey. He cupped Mickey's face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. "I meant what I said the other night," he murmured. "I love you. Even if I never see you again after all this, I'm always going to worry about you, Mickey."

Mickey was quiet for a long time before he finally opened his eyes and pulled back to look into Ian's. "Why me?" he asked, feeling more raw and vulnerable and open than he had ever felt in any other point in his life.

Ian Gallagher had the ability to make him want to feel, want to open himself up and express himself and, now that he had that person in his life, this person that loved and accepted him for who he was, he was going to have to let him go.

"I'm a piece of shit, Ian. What the fuck is so special about me, huh? Why even bother?"

"Because—for some reason I can't explain—I'm drawn to you," Ian said, smoothing his thumbs over Mickey's cheeks. "And because, even though you act like you're so tough, you're really just a big fucking softy on the inside." He smiled a little at Mickey's offended frown. "And because you're fucking sexy, Mickey. . .so damn sexy. And even though you like to pretend you hate my jokes, I catch you smiling all the time because of them, even though you think I don't—"

Mickey leaned in and kissed Ian then to shut him up.

"Mickey," Ian whispered when they pulled apart.

"I don't wanna fucking talk anymore," Mickey said, standing up and taking Ian's hand.

Ian took Mickey's hand and then laughed when Mickey pulled him up suddenly, causing Ian to slightly stumble against him. He then found himself being pushed backwards on the bed as Mickey advanced on him.

"You ready for round three?"


	24. Who's Your Daddy

Mickey and Ian were wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the sweaty, delicious aftermath of round number three, passing a cigarette lazily back and forth between them.

"Man, that was good," Mickey said with a satisfying sigh.

As Ian puffed on the cigarette, he sent a wink in Mickey's direction.

"Don't get cocky now, asshole," Mickey teased, squeezing Ian's freckled shoulder for emphasis.

Ian laughed as he handed the cigarette back to Mickey. "The way you were scratching my back and the sounds you were making, I think I'm allowed to be a little bit cocky."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbled, bringing the cigarette to his lips.

"I wanna know more about you," Ian murmured. His cheek was pressed warmly against Mickey's chest and he was lazily doodling shapes on Mickey's stomach with the tips of his fingers.

"More about me, huh?" Mickey asked apprehensively. "Shouldn't you get to know more about a person _before_ you fuck them?"

Ian laughed. "Shut up. I just want to know more about you."

"Well, you already know my name and dick size; what else is there to know?"

"I don't know…stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah, like…what's your favorite color?"

"Black."

"Okay, that was probably a stupid question."

Mickey could sense Ian's disappointment in his lack of participation and he sighed, giving in. "Fuck, fine. Ask me whatever."

Ian was silent for a moment before asking, "What's your favorite movie?"

Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip. "You want the safe answer or the real answer?"

"Both."

"Safe answer is Under Siege."

"Right. Forgot about your boner for Seagal," Ian said and he didn't even have to look; he already knew Mickey was rolling his eyes. "What's the real answer?"

"Promise me you won't fucking laugh."

"I won't laugh."

Mickey sighed heavily and then said, "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,"

Ian lifted his head from Mickey's chest and laughed right in his face. "Willy Wonka? Mickey Milkovich, big bad thug man's favorite movie is Willy fucking Wonka?"

"Fuck you, man, you said you wouldn't laugh," Mickey said with a chortle. "What's your favorite movie?"

"Safe answer?" On Mickey's nod, Ian said, "The Goonies."

"Acceptable. Real answer?"

"Dirty Dancing," Ian said before shamefully burying his face in Mickey's chest.

"Dirty Dancing? You get on me about fucking Willy Wonka and your favorite movie is Dirty Dancing? The fuck?"

Ian laughed goofily. "Two words…Patrick Swayze."

"Yeah, well, I got two words for you too...fucking lame."

Ian leaned in and kissed him even as they continued to laugh.

They fell into silence then, both of them listening to the steady sound of the other breathing, both secretly taking comfort in it.

"Maybe we don't have to go back at all," Ian said thoughtfully, finally breaking the contented silence after awhile. "Maybe we can just run off to New York and start new lives. We can pick up odd jobs, save up some money, get an apartment—"

Mickey knew Ian wasn't being completely serious, but still, the whole idea of leaving his old shit life behind and starting a new one—far from his homophobic father and asshole brothers and that shithole town—had a certain fucking appeal to it.

"Yeah, 'cause that's realistic," Mickey finally said with a snort before inhaling his cigarette.

"Don't laugh at me, asshole."

"I'm just fuckin' saying," Mickey continued as he reached over and snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. "We shouldn't be wasting our time talking about fucking fairytales right now. We got actual bullshit to deal with here, actual solutions to come up with."

Ian lifted his head and propped his chin on Mickey's chest, gazing up at him with a frown. "What's so unrealistic about it, huh? We've been doing okay so far in a new town, just the two of us these past couple weeks."

"You're fucking kidding, right?" Mickey asked gruffly. "You really think we could just pick up and move to Fucksville, USA and start a new life together? Christ, man, we've known each other for three weeks. What, you think we're going to fucking ride off into the sunset together? Leave all our problems behind? This isn't some fucking Julia Roberts bitch flick."

"It's not entirely impossible, that's all I'm saying."

"Come on, man...and what about your family, huh? You guys are like the fucking ghetto Brady Bunch," Mickey retorted. As an afterthought, he added, "and I got a family too, you know."

"Some family," Ian bit back sarcastically, his cheeks flushing with frustration.

"Hey, they're still my fucking family."

Ian just smirked at this before continuing. "All I'm saying is—"

"Just fucking drop it, Gallagher. It's not going to happen," Mickey said sternly. He wanted to drop the subject before he even allowed himself to hope, wish or dream. He didn't share Ian's optimism on the matter.

Ian nodded and then sat up, letting the sheets fall from his naked body. "Got it."

Mickey watched as Ian crawled off the bed in all his naked glory, knowing he was hurt. "Fuck," he said on a light exhale.

Ian tugged on his jeans.

Mickey watched him for a few torturous moments before saying, "look, I'm not saying the idea isn't appealing, alright? I'm just trying to stay realistic here. One of us has to."

"No, I get it," Ian said as he tugged his shirt on, covering up the red scratches on his back and the hickeys on his collarbone. "You're right. It was a stupid idea. Besides, as much as you and I fight, we'd kill each other before we even crossed the state border. It'd never work. We would never work."

Mickey groaned. "I don't wanna fucking fight about this."

"No one's fighting," Ian said simply with a shrug even though his jaw remained stiff.

"It kinda fucking seems like we are."

Ian walked over to the table and began rummaging through their junk food supply, his back to Mickey. "Nope," he said with a pop of his mouth.

"Look, just get your ass back in bed," Mickey said, patting the empty space beside him.

"I don't feel like coming back to bed."

"Quit being so fucking dramatic and get back over here," Mickey said, sitting up.

"No one's being fucking dramatic," Ian said as he tore open a Snickers bar.

Mickey sighed exasperatedly, then crawled off the bed and walked to Ian, wrapping his arms around him from behind. "Come back to bed," he whispered against the crook of Ian's neck. "I'll blow you."

"Fuck you."

"Or we can do that—"

"No, I mean _fuck you_, Mickey."

Mickey licked a trail up to Ian's ear. "Come back to bed," he whispered huskily against the shell of his ear.

Ian was still holding strong as he chewed his candy bar. "It took me weeks to get you into bed, now I'm gonna have to start beating you off with a fucking stick?"

Mickey didn't say anything, just grabbed the ends of Ian's t-shirt, tugged it up and off slowly before tossing it to the side.

Ian remained steadfast as he enjoyed his candy bar, pretending to be unaffected.

"What can I say?" Mickey grumbled as he wrapped his arms around Ian's waist and slipped his FUCK hand down the front of Ian's pants, grabbing his cock, while his other hand rubbed across Ian's firm chest and pinched his nipple. "I can't get enough of you."

Ian moaned and finally leaned back into Mickey, allowing his head to roll back against Mickey's shoulder. "Fuck, that feels good. I hate you and your stupid fucking hand."

"You love my hand."

"The hell I do."

"You do," Mickey said huskily against his ear as Ian's cock grew firmer in his hand with each stroke. "I can tell you do."

"Asshole," Ian said, his tone no longer vindictive.

Mickey smiled against Ian's shoulder as he continued stroking him. "Still mad at me?"

"Yes," Ian stammered, trying to keep up his tough guy act, but miserably failing as he started to melt in Mickey's arms.

Mickey continued peppering soft, moist kisses on Ian's neck as he flicked his thumb over the head of Ian's cock, causing him to moan. "Still mad?"

"M—maybe."

Mickey nipped at Ian's neck and stifled his own moan as Ian began thrusting into his hand, making some fucking incredible noises. "Would it make you feel better if I let you fuck me hard, bent over the table? Would that make up for me being an asshole?"

Ian groaned at that and then spun around and surged forward to press his lips against Mickey's.

Mickey laughed into the chocolatey kiss and then groaned when Ian pulled away suddenly and forced him to turn around.

Ian gripped Mickey by the back of the neck and then bent him over the table, causing the table to skid, their precious food supply scattering.

"Fuck," Mickey groaned, insanely turned on by Ian's roughness. The slow, sensual sex had been fucking awesome—he wasn't going to lie—but he was looking forward to Ian giving it to him good and hard.

Luckily for Ian, there was an unopened pack of condoms and a tube of lube right within his reach on the table. While he kept a hold on the back of Mickey's neck with his left hand, he grabbed the pack of condoms with his right hand and fumbled with the box before removing one and ripping it open with his teeth. "You sure you want it like this?"

"Yes," Mickey choked out. "Fuck yes, I want it like this."

Ian released his hold on Mickey's neck and went to work sliding on the condom. He then lubed himself up and, not being particularly gentle, he eased two slicked fingers inside Mickey, thrusted a few quick times, and then positioned his cock against the puckered rim.

Mickey was bent completely over the table, his breathing sharp and unsteady as he awaited the wanted intrusion.

Ian pressed against the tight ring of muscle and then sank in deep. He then grabbed the back of Mickey's neck again and grabbed his hip with his other hand and began thrusting in and out of him deeply, loving the sounds coming from Mickey's mouth.

When they made love the first three times, Mickey's grunts and moans were drawn out and breathy; as Ian pounded in and out of him now, perhaps maybe taking some pent up frustration out on the brunette, Mickey was practically gasping and hissing in pleasure. Surely the neighbors were getting an earful.

"Fuck, Ian. Fuck," Mickey gasped as he reached across the table to grip the edge, his knuckles turning white.

Ian stared down at Mickey's sweaty, taut back, watched as his muscles clenched and tightened as he continued to pound in and out him. He dug his fingers roughly into Mickey's hip, knowing he would be leaving marks, but he kinda liked the thought of leaving his mark on Mickey. "Feels so fucking good, Mickey." He reached down with a slick hand and wrapped it around Mickey's cock, tugging it in time with his thrusts.

It didn't take long before Mickey was coming with a shout and a punch to the table, his come squirting into Ian's fist and through his fingers.

Ian shuddered through his own orgasm and he buckled against Mickey, his whole body reeling from the force of it all.

Mickey gasped for air as Ian's limp body pinned him to the table. "Goddamn, Gallagher," he gasped out. "I oughta get you pissed off more often."

Ian finally pulled himself off Mickey and removed his cock with a soft hiss. When Mickey straightened up and turned in his arms, Ian accepted his kiss, their sweaty bodies plastering together.

"Did I hurt you?" Ian asked when he pulled away, pushing Mickey's hair away from his forehead.

"Fuck no, you didn't hurt me. In fact, when we fuck from now on, I want it just like that."

"From now on, huh?" Ian asked sadly.

Mickey sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fuck, I didn't—"

"Sorry," Ian said, pulling away from the embrace. "I know. I know what this is. We're not boyfriends. I won't try to make it more."

Mickey watched helplessly as Ian walked to the bathroom to clean himself up. Suddenly, the idea of running away together sounded like fucking heaven.

Ian came out a minute later and grabbed a clean blue shirt from the ugly green chair.

Mickey only watched him, not knowing what to say in the moment.

"I've been doing some thinking...on where we can get the rest of the money," Ian said before Mickey could think of something to say, as he tugged his shirt on. "It's kind of a last resort thing, but we don't have much of a choice right now since running away together is apparently out of the question."

"I'm listening," Mickey said, his eyebrows shooting up as he stood there naked. He ignored the fact that an unknown emotion fisted at his heart at the thought that maybe they were finally going to be able to get the money and go home, something he wasn't prepared for yet, no matter how many times he told himself he was.

A small part of him (okay, a fucking huge part) had been hoping it would take at least another week to come up with a solution.

"I was thinking about going to talk to my dad about giving me the money."

"Your dad? Fucking Frank?" Mickey asked, genuinely confused. "I thought we already established Frank's a piece of shit who isn't going to help?"

"No," Ian said, running a hand through his hair and finally lifting his eyes to Mickey's. "Not Frank. Clayton…my real father."


	25. Calling the Shots

"You wanna go see your real dad? You serious?" Mickey asked after a lengthy pause. He could tell by the moisture gathering in Ian's eyes that it wasn't exactly something he was aching to do. "Have you ever even met the fucking sperm donor before?"

"Once," Ian answered solemnly, looking as if he'd rather talk about anything else. "Lip and I found him after I found out Frank wasn't my real dad. We went to his house, met his wife and everything. He, uh, I look exactly like him. I knew he was my dad. I knew he was my dad, but I didn't say anything. We just left."

Mickey scratched at his temple as he took this all in. "Do you think he knows he's your dad?"

Ian jumped up from the bed and began pacing. "I don't know. I don't fucking know. It didn't seem like it. All I know is I have to do _something_, right? This guy, he's loaded, and he might be my dad and I have to at least try. I have to try to get the money from him."

Mickey strode over to Ian and placed his hands on his shoulders, attempting to calm him down. Calming Ian Gallagher down seemed to be all he wanted to do these days. It was fucking weird. "Okay. If you want to pay this asshole a visit, I say go for it. The worst he can say is fuck off, right? It's worth a shot."

Ian nodded his head wearily, still avoiding eye contact. "It's our only option right now."

"Hey, I get it," Mickey said, dropping his voice sympathetically. "If this shithead is your real dad, the least he can do is help you out. You can look at it as owed child support, or some shit. The bastard owes you that much."

Ian finally lifted his cloudy eyes to Mickey's, suddenly looking and sounding like the scared, unsure, sixteen-year-old he was. "Will you come with me?"

Mickey reached a hand up and cupped the crown of Ian's head, digging his fingers into his copper hair. "Of course I will," he said, his voice low and husky as he searched Ian's wet yes. He leaned in and kissed Ian softly, the action just coming naturally to him now.

Ian melted into the kiss and allowed Mickey to guide it.

It was surreal; how they had been furiously fucking against a table just fifteen minutes prior to this, and now Mickey was kissing him so gently and so tenderly that it took Ian's breath away and rendered him stupid.

Mickey pulled away and touched his forehead to Ian's, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He didn't know how, in just a few short weeks, he'd turned into such a fucking sap, but that was what Ian did to him. He'd never liked kissing before, but with Ian, he couldn't seem to get enough.

"Where does this douchebag live, anyway?"

"North Side," Ian answered, looking distracted as he stared down at Mickey's chest. "Has a nice house, nice car, nice family; whole nine yards." His voice caught a little at the end, giving away his emotions, even though he was trying so hard to hold them back.

Mickey watched him, that familiar tightening in his chest again, like a hand fisting his heart. He grabbed Ian's chin gingerly, turning his face towards his. He leaned in for a kiss and slid his arms around the younger boy, pulling them flush together.

He didn't want to fuck, wasn't just doing it to make Ian feel better; he genuinely just wanted to kiss him, to be close to him.

Their tongues slowly tangled and their hands smoothed over each others bodies lazily as they pressed together, unable to get enough.

They fell back into the jumble of sheets, pillows, and blankets on the bed and continued kissing, never once breaking contact.

Mickey pulled back a little and stared down into Ian's flushed face, his hand and thumb caressing his smooth velvety cheek. He didn't know what had gotten into him, all he knew was that kissing Ian Gallagher, like this, was all he fucking wanted to do.

Ian stared up at him, his adam's apple bobbing, his eyes searching.

Mickey smiled the faintest of smiles and leaned back down, fitting his lips perfectly against Ian's, wet and soft, and kissed him tenderly, tugging at Ian's bottom lip with his teeth before angling his head and going in again.

Ian's hands were slowly roaming over Mickey's bare back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Mickey trailed his lips away from Ian's mouth and kissed down his chin, over his throat and then back up again, even going so far as kissing the tip of Ian's freckled nose. "You've turned me into such a fucking sap, you know that," he murmured affectionately against sweet, warm skin.

"You wanna fuck?" Ian panted, tactful as always.

"No," Mickey grumbled against the hollow of Ian's throat. "I just want to keep doing this," he said. He had never felt so connected with another person before, had never felt so open before. With Ian, he felt he could say, do and feel anything he wanted.

With Ian, he wasn't afraid.

With Ian, he felt free.

Ian's fingers were in Mickey's hair, tugging lightly, as their tongues continued dueling languidly. Neither rushed it, just took their time kissing, their emotions going into overdrive. They both knew, deep down, that they were treading on dangerous ground here, but both were too far gone in the moment to really think much of it.

* * *

Ian was the first to wake in the middle of the night. He lifted his head from Mickey's chest, his cheek sticky with drool. He stared down at him, his heart heavy in his chest. He pulled away stiffly, careful not to wake Mickey, and climbed off the bed. He walked to the dresser, tapped a cigarette into his palm and lit it. He then sat down in the green chair as he smoked, watching Mickey sleep.

Without even realizing it, a tear made its miserable descent down his cheek. He quickly swiped it away before it got too far and sniffed, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth with a shaky hand.

He was going to suggest going to see Clayton tomorrow; suggest packing their shit and hitting the road and getting it over and done with. It was time to go home.

It was time to let go.

He had already allowed himself to get in way too deep with Mickey Milkovich. In just a few short weeks, he had fallen hopelessly in love with him. He had fallen in love with the worst possible person he could have fallen for.

It was time to get on with his life, right now, because he knew if he didn't do it soon, he was never going to be able to let go.

Mickey opened his eyes and was immediately faced with the sight of Ian slumped at the table, his head bent in his hands. He pushed himself into a sitting position, squinting against the glaring sunlight pouring in through the threadbare curtains.

"Hey," Mickey said groggily, his mouth feeling dry and his tongue heavy. "What time did you get up?"

"A couple hours ago," Ian said plainly, his voice sounding rough around the edges.

"A couple hours ago?" Mickey asked, sneaking a quick look back at the clock. "You've just been sitting there since five fuckin' AM?"

"Been thinking."

Mickey rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. "You wanna go get breakfast or something?" he asked through a yawn. "I'm fucking famished, man."

"I wanna leave," Ian interjected. "I think we should pack up and go . . . today. We should go see Clayton and get this thing over with. We've been gone too long as it is."

Mickey slowly pulled his hand from his face, Ian's words like a knife to the gut. He knew Ian wanted to go see Clayton, but figured they still had a few days to iron out the details. "Today? Like right fucking now, today?"

"Yeah," Ian said, seemingly avoiding his eyes. "The longer we put it off, the worse it will be; the angrier your dad will be, the deeper we'll—" He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head a little in reproof. "We just need to go."

"Ian, I—" Mickey began, wanting to tell him that he just wasn't ready; that maybe, _fuck_, maybe they could just pack up and move somewhere far away and start a new, better life together. But he didn't. He couldn't. He knew it was impossible, a pipe dream.

Instead, he said shallowly, "If you think that's what we should do, then that's what we should do."

Ian nodded curtly and, after a heavy pause, reiterated. "It's what we should do."

"Ian—"

"It's what we should do," Ian said with more finality, finally looking Mickey in the eyes. "You said it yourself . . . this was only a limited time deal."

Mickey finally realized that Ian's eyes were brimming with tears. He could only nod and swallow the thick lump in his throat, forcing back his own emotions. "Okay. This is your deal. You call the shots here."

"Trust me, I'm not the one who called these shots." Ian said, his voice softer this time.

Mickey forced himself to look away and ran a hand over his face, trying to catch his mind up to everything. He finally flung the blankets away from his body and mentally prepared himself to rebuild those walls; the walls that Ian had so effortlessly and seamlessly and inexplicably torn down. He knew it was over, he knew it _had_ to be over; he just didn't realize it would be over this soon or hurt this much. But he supposed Ian was right, the sooner it ended, the better.

He knew kissing Ian last night like he had, being so sensual and loving, had thrown them both into new, unfamiliar territory and it had, apparently, scared Ian just as much as it had him.

_He was such a fucking idiot._

"Yeah, okay," Mickey said as he got up. "I'm going to, uh, go take a shower and then we can pack up our shit and go find a car and get outta here."

Ian, who was still sitting at the table, his fingers steepled under his quivering chin, simply nodded, his eyes focused on the wall.

Mickey disappeared into the bathroom and then leaned back against the cold, wooden door, his heart thumping miserably in his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he rocked in place, forcing back his tears, refusing to fucking cry, and sucked in a deep quivering breath before walking to the shower and turning on the water.

Only when he was under the hot spray, did he allow himself to cry; because then he could pretend they weren't tears.

It was always easier to pretend.

* * *

Ian went about the room, packing up everything they had acquired over the past few weeks; clothes, shoes, the Monopoly game they had purchased and hadn't even opened because they both had been too preoccupied with each other's mouths and dicks to bother.

When there was nothing left to pack up, Ian looked around the room, his heart heavy. Even though the place was an ugly shithole that smelled like a goddamn shoe, he was going to miss it. He was going to miss everything; their talks that went into the wee hours of the morning, the fucking that had satisfied every ounce of his being, the lazy makeout sessions that always went a little too long, their idle chitchat about everything and nothing at all as they watched old stupid sitcoms and game shows.

Most of all, he was just going to miss Mickey. He was going to miss his smell, and the way he smiled at one of Ian's lame jokes even when he tried so hard not to. He was even going to miss their constant bickering and fighting, because the making up part was always _so good_.

He slowly sat down in the ugly green chair and swiped at his cheek, trying to pull himself together.

How the hell was he supposed to go back to the South Side and go on about his normal fucking life, knowing that Mickey Milkovich was somewhere out there, just out of his reach?

That he was out there unprotected, under his father's fucking thumb?

The door to the room opened and Mickey sauntered in, stomping the snow from his boots, his cheeks rosy from the cold. "We got lucky. I found a car just down the road. It's a piece of shit, but it should get us where we need to go," he said without bothering to look up. "Let's pack it up and get a move on before someone notices it's missing."

"Mick."

"Don't, Gallagher," Mickey said harshly, reducing Ian back to his nickname, his eyes still focused on the floor. "Let's just go, alright? Get this shit over with."

Ian nodded curtly and took one last look around the room before grabbing two of the four duffel bags that sat on the table. He brushed past Mickey, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

Mickey grabbed the remaining two bags and followed Ian out, leaving the room, and the fantasy, behind them.

* * *

The ride out of Cicero was deafeningly quiet.

Ian kept sneaking tentative glances in Mickey's direction, but Mickey's eyes remained steadfast on the road ahead of them. He turned his head to glance back out the window and gnawed on his lower lip. He knew he had done the right thing, forcing them to take that initial step back to their inevitable reality, but he couldn't help feeling like shit.

"I'm sorry," he finally said after ten minutes of silence. "I didn't want it to end," he said, looking back at Mickey who was still staring at the road, his jaw tight. "You know I didn't. If it were up to me, I—"

"It doesn't fucking matter anymore, Gallagher," Mickey said, his voice uneven as he reached forward and fumbled with the heater knob. "It's done. We both knew it was going to come to this."

"I know, but—"

"It was fun while it lasted," Mickey interrupted, "but that's all it fucking was. Fun."

"That's not all it was for me."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't fucking matter anymore, does it. Once we stepped out of that room, it was over."

Ian reached forward without thinking and grabbed Mickey's hand. He wasn't surprised when Mickey tore his hand away.


	26. Daddy Issues

Ian couldn't take the awkward silence any longer; so naturally, like a child, he reached over and turned the volume of the radio up a few notches, letting his frustration be known. He sat back with a satisfying smirk, but then his mouth fell slack when Mickey immediately reached a hand out and slapped his hand away.

"Fuck, that hurt!"

"Don't touch my fucking radio, asshole."

Ian sat dumbfounded for a moment before glaring sideways at Mickey. "Your radio? Since when is a radio in a stolen fucking car _your radio?_"

"Since I fucking said it was, that's when. I'm the driver, driver gets control of the fucking radio."

"Oh, really?" Ian asked flatly, his brows furrowed in irritation. "So, this is how it's gonna be, huh? We're going to act like fucking toddlers now?"

"You're the fucking kid here, Gallagher, not me."

"Oh, _I'm_ the kid? You're the one pissed off at me for something you wanted in the first fucking place."

"Fuck off."

"What are you even mad about, Mickey? Wasn't this the deal? Fuck each other and then tap out? Go back to our old lives? Are you mad that you're not the one who got to end it first, huh? That I beat you to the punch?"

Mickey didn't refute it, just turned the radio up even louder, drowning out Ian's words, the bass causing the windows to rattle.

"Now who's acting like a goddamn child?!"

Mickey responded with his middle finger pressed right against Ian's nose.

"You're such an asshole," Ian exclaimed over the music, swatting Mickey's hand away from his face.

Mickey immaturely banged his head to the bass and drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel.

Ian shot a hand out audaciously and turned the music down.

"The fuck you think you're doing?"

"I know I'm _not_ doing this with you."

"Doing what?"

"Playing your stupid games. Get over your fucking ego."

"Fuck you. And—just so we're fucking clear—you were right, I'm pissed you got to end it first because, _fuck_, I've been wanting to end it with you for days now. I was getting bored with your cock and constant fucking babble."

Ian smirked at this. "Okay, now I definitely know you're butt hurt about this, because you're just flat out lying now. You couldn't get enough of my dick."

"Fuck you. You think your dick's that good, Gallagher? I can get better cock than that in the fucking back alley of the Alibi Room."

Ian reached over without hesitation and grabbed Mickey's hand from the steering wheel, bravely placing it over his crotch. "Can you, though?" he asked, pressing Mickey's palm against his growing erection. _Fuck, why did fighting with Mickey make him so fucking horny? It was infuriating._

Mickey didn't dare look at him, but he didn't move his hand away either. He visibly swallowed and licked his lips, clearly affected by the fact that his hand was pressed against Ian's cock.

"That's what I fucking thought," Ian spat finally, once he saw the blush creeping up Mickey's cheeks. He tossed Mickey's hand away from his lap. "Asshole," he mumbled.

"Fuck," Mickey sputtered, running his now free hand down his face as his anger dissolved.

Ian's own anger began to dissipate and he snuck a sidelong glance at Mickey. "I don't like this any more than you do."

"What makes you think I give a shit?" Mickey spat, clearly still trying to hold on to some shred of whatever dignity he had left.

"Because I know you treat me the worst when you care the most."

Mickey finally glanced away from the road and looked at Ian, his expression softening around the edges. A moment later, he was cursing under his breath and pulling the too-loud, shitty stolen car to the side of the road.

Ian watched him, watched as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He was particularly surprised when Mickey leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, his shoulders rising and falling with his deep breaths.

"I don't know how to do this," Mickey finally mumbled after a long time, the words seemingly tumbling out of his mouth. "I've never. . .I've never done something like this before. I've never. . .cared this much before about anything and I don't know how to deal with—_fuck_—with—"

"Letting go?" Ian finished for him softly.

"Something like that," Mickey said flatly. "So I fucking do the only thing I know how to do; I push people away and act like I don't fucking care, but I do, alright?"

Ian didn't know what to say, could only look down at his hands.

"Trust me, I wish I didn't fucking care. It would make all of this a whole-fucking-lot easier if I didn't."

"Hey," Ian said, reaching over and attempting to take his hand again. This time, Mickey didn't pull his hand away. "At least we'll always have Cicero." He smiled faintly, trying to break the tension even while he was breaking on the inside.

"You're the cheesiest motherfucker I know, you know that." Mickey returned Ian's faint smile after a few heartbeats before giving Ian's hand a gentle squeeze, and then pulling it away to shift gears and pull back onto the road.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, after amicably settling on a radio station they both liked turned to a reasonable volume, they pulled onto Clayton Gallagher's cul-de-sac.

"You sure this is it?" Mickey asked as he glanced around the perfectly paved, cookie-cutter street. _Lucky fucking bastards, didn't know how good they had it._

"Pretty sure," Ian said distractedly as he leaned forward and peered out the window. "There," he said. "It's right there."

Mickey didn't know why he was surprised; of course a guy with a fucking name like Clayton would live in a perfect three-story house, with a perfectly manicured lawn, three car garage, white picket fence, and even a fucking bright red, quintessential front door.

The thought that Ian could have grown up here, in this perfect fucking life instead of the shit life he had been dealt with instead, didn't sit too well with Mickey for some reason.

They immediately felt out of place in their dark inexpensive clothes and mussed hair as they got out of the car and reluctantly made their way up to the front door.

Mickey watched with crossed arms from a few feet away as Ian stood in front of the closed red door, his fist frozen midair.

Ian slowly lowered his hand and his shoulders visibly slumped.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't think I can do this," Ian said sullenly. "This is fucking stupid. I can't just knock on this guy's door, turn his whole world upside down, and ask him to cut me a check for two thousand dollars."

"Why the fuck not? He owes you."

Ian looked at Mickey over his shoulder with a resigned sigh. "It's not that easy, okay? What if he doesn't want to see me? Doesn't want to help me?"

"Well, knock and fucking find out."

"I can't."

Mickey uncrossed his arms and rolled his eyes before stepping up to the door. "I'll do it then, fuck." Before Ian could stop him, Mickey lifted his tattooed hand and rapped obnoxiously on the door.

"What the fuck are you doing, Mickey?" Ian hissed as he grabbed Mickey's hand, but it was already too late. "I can't believe you just fucking did that!"

"Someone had to take the initiative," Mickey said with a shrug as he casually brought a cigarette to his lips, cupped his hands to block out the wind and lit it.

"I can't fucking believe you," Ian hissed again. Just as he was contemplating jumping behind a nearby rose bush, the door opened and he turned to face Clayton Gallagher for the second time in his life.

Clayton eyed Ian, blinking his eyes slowly a few times with a tilt of his head, as if trying to determine if his eyes were deceiving him. "Ian?"

Ian turned fully to the older man, his body stiff and his throat dry. "Um, hi." Behind him, he felt Mickey press his hand reassuringly to the small of his back. It was a quick touch, but he still felt it to the tips of his toes nonetheless.

Clayton looked wearily into the house behind him before stepping outside, closing the door with him. "What, uh, what're you doing here? I have company."

Ian swallowed thickly before answering. It was better to just come right out with it. No use in beating around the bush. "I'm in trouble, real trouble, and I need your help."

Clayton crossed his arms and tilted his head with a frown. "Trouble? I don't understand. What kind of trouble?"

"I. . .I need money."

Clayton dropped his arms, his frown deepening. "You need money? I don't understand. What is this?"

Ian looked back at Mickey, who gave him a reassuring nod, before looking back at Clayton. "We owe. . .I owe someone two grand and, if I don't get it to them soon, they'll kill me. Like literally kill me. No bullshit."

"Whoa, slow down, kid," Clayton said, holding up a hand, his shiny Rolex gleaming in the afternoon sun. "I don't know what you think's going to happen here, or what you're trying to get out of this, but—"

"You're my dad," Ian finally blurted. "I mean, I'm pretty sure you're my dad. Well, I'm actually about ninety-eight percent positive you're my dad. We have the same eyes and shit and. . .and I just really think you're my dad."

Behind him, Mickey hung his head, thumbed his lower lip, and hid his gentle smile at Ian's incessant babbling.

Clayton's frown melted into an expression of complete affirmation as Ian's words sunk in. He then shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his expensive trousers and looked down at his two hundred dollar pair of shoes, clearing his throat.

Ian watched him, took in his reaction and his expression. "You know, don't you? You know I'm your kid. You knew this whole fucking time, didn't you."

"Look, kid," Clayton stammered, stepping a little closer and dropping his voice. "You can't be here. You're not welcome, okay? I have a life, a family. We can't deal with this. There's no room in our lives. I shouldn't be forced to deal with something, a mistake, that happened seventeen years ago."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mickey snapped before Ian could even have a chance to react himself.

Clayton's eyes shot to Mickey and he shuffled uncomfortably before looking back at a white-faced Ian. "Look, kid—"

"Ian. His name is Ian," Mickey spat, stiffening his posture and glaring at the man.

"Ian," Clayton reiterated nervously. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're expecting here. Look, If I give you the money you need, you can't bother me again, okay? Do you understand?"

Ian just stared dumbly, vaguely feeling Mickey grip his shoulder.

"You're fucking buying him off? You fucking serious?"

"It has to be this way. Please understand," Clayton continued before opening the door and backing into the house. "I'll be right back."

Ian stared at the closed front door, trying to get his mind right.

"Ian, fuck. . .are you alright, man?"

"Yeah," Ian said flatly. "Just another parent who doesn't want me. The fuck else is new, right?" He turned and began heading back to the car.

Mickey watched after him helplessly, not knowing how to handle the situation. The door opened and he turned just as Clayton basically thrust the check at him.

"Two thousand dollars," Clayton whispered, nervously looking over his shoulder towards the sounds of people laughing and talking inside. "Tell Ian I'm sorry. This is the way it has to be. My wife, she—"

"Don't you even want to know what kinda trouble he's in? Or who wants to kill him? He's your fucking son, man."

Clayton once again looked apprehensively over his shoulder.

"Yeah, fuck you," Mickey spat, snatching the check from Clayton's hand. He folded the check and stuck it in his back pocket as he turned away. He then thought better of it and turned back to glare at the man. "It's your fucking loss, you hear me? That kid? He's fucking amazing."

Clayton watched disbelievingly as Mickey spat on his expensive shoes and then turned to head down the walkway.

* * *

On their way to Canaryville, to which Mickey was driving at least ten miles below the speed limit, not exactly in a hurry to get there any quicker than need be, he kept sneaking sidelong glances in Ian's direction.

Ian hadn't said one word since leaving his sperm donor's home, and Mickey was having trouble broaching conversation.

Finally, he blurted, "you alright, man?"

"Yeah. Fine," Ian said sulkily, as he stared blankly out the window at the passing scenery.

"You're not fucking fine, Ian. I know you, you're not fine. You haven't said shit since we got in the car."

"I don't want to talk about it, alright. We got what we went there for, we got the money. I wasn't expecting anything else."

"Yeah, well, it was a pretty fucking shitty thing for him to say to you."

"I'm used to it. Frank and Monica's been treating me like shit for yours."

Mickey swallowed hard, choosing his next words carefully. "Well, you don't fucking deserve it." He snuck a look over at Ian, whose face was turned just enough for Mickey to barely glimpse his teeth gnawing on his quivering bottom lip.

He then sighed and turned his eyes back to the road, spotting a gas station up ahead. "I'm stopping for gas."

"We're ten minutes from home," Ian said, finally looking at him. "You gonna fill the tank up as reimbursement for stealing the car?"

Mickey just smirked as he pulled into the gas station. He didn't really need gas, he was just trying to put the inevitable off for a little while longer. The extreme anxiety he had been feeling all afternoon at the thought of confronting his dad weighed on his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

Plus, you know, he wasn't ready to say goodbye to a certain irritating redhead just yet.

"You want anything?" Mickey asked as he opened the rusty door to get out.

"Yeah, I guess I'll go take a piss," Ian said as he got out.

Mickey kept the car running. He shut his door and began heading towards the entrance of the gas station, all the while his eyes followed Ian as he headed towards the bathroom at the side of the building.

He froze in his step and rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip, only thinking about it for a split second before heading in the direction Ian had gone.


	27. All That's Left

Ian entered the small, dingy gas station restroom and was just about to close the door behind him so that he could sulk for a few minutes in private, when he was pushed fully inside from behind. He spun around defensively, fearing the worst, thinking he was going to end up as some gay sob story on Dateline NBC one day, and relaxed when he saw that it was only Mickey.

It was Mickey; leaning back against the closed door, his eyes dark and intent with desire.

"Shit, Mickey, what are you doing in here?" Ian asked, his words barely tumbling out of his mouth before Mickey grabbed fistfuls of his coat and pushed him back stumbling against the dirty sink.

"What I've been wanting to do all fucking day," Mickey rasped before leaning in and crushing his lips roughly against Ian's.

Ian was stiff against the kiss, trying to mentally assess the situation, before finally running his hands up the front of Mickey's coat and wrapping his arms around Mickey's neck, pressing as tightly as he could against him. He rested most of his weight back against the sink and opened his legs just enough for Mickey to press against him.

They kissed vehemently, their coats bunching underneath their groping hands, both of them panting into each other's mouths, unwilling to break away from each other.

"Take this fucking jacket off," Mickey rasped when he finally did pull away. He unzipped Ian's coat and then pushed the offensive material down over Ian's shoulders, but didn't push it all the way off. He dropped his hands and slid them underneath Ian's shirt and feathered his fingers over Ian's taut belly, wanting to feel Ian's soft, warm skin beneath his fingers. "Jesus, man," he groaned before leaning back in for another kiss.

"This isn't a good idea, Mickey," Ian grumbled unconvincingly when Mickey began nipping teasingly at Ian's throat, knowing it drove Ian crazy.

"Seems like a good fucking idea to me," Mickey murmured against Ian's adam's apple before moving back to press his mouth to Ian's again. His tattooed hand gripped the back of Ian's head, holding him in place as he devoured Ian's mouth.

Ian kissed him back just as hard before putting his hands to Mickey's chest and pushing him away lightly. "No, Mickey, we can't do this."

Mickey stared back at Ian; his hair mussed, his lips red and swollen, his cheeks flushed. "You fucking kidding me right now?" he exclaimed, looking down at the erection straining against the front of his jeans.

"We can't do this here," Ian rephrased. He'd be damned if he was going to turn Mickey Milkovich down while he was looking like that. "There's a motel right down the road. We can go there, okay."

Mickey leaned in and pressed his forehead to Ian's, his breath caressing his freckled face. "You sure you're up for it?" he murmured.

Ian just nodded and licked his lips, his own erection pressing against Mickey's thigh was answer enough.

"Well, let's fucking go then," Mickey blurted as he stepped away and tugged Ian with him.

* * *

The motel was even worse than their previous one, but neither one of them gave a flying fuck, to be honest. They tossed the money at the guy behind the counter, grabbed their key, and hurried to the room. They had barely gotten through the door before they were tearing their coats off and practically flinging themselves into each other's arms.

Mickey pressed Ian back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. He grabbed Ian's wrists and pinned them to the wall above his head. "You're so fucking hot," he groaned against Ian's neck, inhaling him.

Ian arched into Mickey. "We need to get these fucking clothes off."

Mickey didn't have to be told twice. He kissed Ian hard, tugging his bottom lip roughly with his teeth as he broke away. With his eyes locked on Ian's, he tore his shirt over his head and then immediately began undoing his belt.

Ian's eyes racked appreciatively over Mickey's body as he worked on his own belt. After kicking his pants off, he then locked lustful eyes with Mickey and lifted his arms over his head, waiting.

Mickey took the bait. He grabbed and slowly lifted Ian's t-shirt up and over his head before tossing it aside. He then rocked up for another eager kiss.

Once they were naked, Ian grabbed Mickey by the wrist before turning him by the shoulder so that Mickey was pressed up against the wall, facing it.

Not wasting any time, Ian dropped to his knees and kneaded Mickey's ass before giving it a slap. "Fuck, Mickey…you have the perfect fucking ass," he murmured as he leaned in and sprinkled soft kisses over Mickey's cheeks.

Mickey gasped and pressed his forehead against the wall. He wasn't used to anyone going anywhere near his ass, let alone worshipping it, but he thought he could definitely fucking get used to it.

"So fucking perfect," Ian murmured against Mickey's ass cheek. Without bothering to warn him, he spread Mickey's cheeks apart and dipped his tongue against the puckered hole.

"Fuck, Ian," Mickey gasped, slapping his palm against the wall and then fisting his hand. The action took him by surprise and it felt fucking incredible. He reached a hand back and dug his fingers into Ian's hair, fisting and holding him in place.

Ian continued to knead Mickey's ass with his hands as he lapped and licked him open, loving the reaction he was getting from Mickey. He pulled back to spit at the puckered hole before moving back in with a groan.

"Don't stop," Mickey moaned, not above begging at that point as Ian practically fucked him with his tongue. He pushed back against Ian's mouth, unable to get enough. He almost whimpered when Ian pulled his tongue and lips away a minute later. "What the fuck?"

Ian didn't say anything, just stood up and pressed his erection against Mickey, showing Mickey how hard he was for him. He ran his hands down Mickey's arms, and then pinned Mickey's hands against the wall above his head with one hand. "I wanna fuck you now." He lazily ran his free hand down Mickey's spine, leaving goose bumps. He teased Mickey's slick asshole with a finger, smiling in satisfaction when Mickey moaned.

Mickey licked his lips and hung his head, ready for whatever Ian wanted to give him. So fucking ready.

Ian nipped at Mickey's shoulder blade as he stroked his own dick. "Shit," he moaned. "The condoms and lube are out in the car."

"It's okay, just do it," Mickey said huskily. "Fuck me."

"I can't, Mick."

"You're clean, right ?" Mickey practically whined, not caring about anything at the moment, just wanting to feel Ian inside him.

"Yeah, but—"

"Just fucking do it," Mickey ordered, bracing himself against the wall.

"What if you get pregnant?" Ian joked breathlessly into the crook of Mickey's neck. He stuck two of his own fingers into his mouth and sucked on them, wetting them liberally, before placing the two fingers at Mickey's hole.

"Shut up with the stupid jokes, asshole, and just get in me already."

Ian thought about his next move for a few more moments before sighing. "I can't. I have to get the stuff. I'll be right back."

Mickey groaned, but he knew Ian was right. They had to be careful; had to be smart about it. "Hurry the fuck up," he spat as he watched Ian hastily redress.

A couple minutes later, Ian re-entered the motel room, undressed quickly, and pushed Mickey against the wall again.

Mickey listened to the sound of the lube opening, and then hissed when he felt cold fingers at his hole. "Fuck, warn me next time?"

Ian smiled against Mickey's skin as he slowly scissored his slicked fingers in and out of Mickey, loosening him. Unable to hold off any longer, he removed his fingers and rolled the condom on. He positioned the head of his cock at the tight ring of muscle, gently easing and pushing in. "I don't wanna hurt you," he mumbled.

Mickey hissed and pushed back against Ian, wanting to take him fully. He panted and gasped and arched, trying to adjust to the painful intrusion. "I'm okay."

Ian kept Mickey's hands pinned to the wall with his left hand as his right hand gripped Mickey's hip. "So hot, Mick. You're so fucking hot."

They met each other thrust for thrust, their bodies perfectly in sync with each other. They rocked and arched and clashed as they made love against the wall.

"You like my cock?"

"I love your fucking cock," Mickey gasped.

"It's all yours, Mickey. All yours," Ian panted.

"Fuck," Mickey drawled, falling apart at the seams.

Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey's waist and stroked his dick, knowing they were both already close. He pressed his forehead between Mickey's shoulder blades, trying to hang onto his own orgasm, wanting Mickey to go first. "Come for me, Mickey," he murmured when he knew Mickey was teetering on the edge.

Mickey choked back a gasp as he fucked into Ian's hand, his orgasm rolling through him in waves.

Ian followed Mickey immediately over the edge.

Mickey practically whimpered when Ian slowly eased out of him.

After rolling the condom off and tossing it to the side, Ian pressed against Mickey, trying to gather himself and catch his breath, and he leaned in and kissed Mickey's sweaty cheek.

Mickey turned his head at the contact and kissed Ian over his bare shoulder, their tongues lazily tangling.

When Ian eventually pulled away to fall limply back on the bed with a satisfying sigh, Mickey turned away from the wall and looked down at Ian in all of his beautiful, sweaty, naked glory. He knew he was playing with fire here, but went for it, anyway.

"Let's stay here tonight, man. We can deal with all that other shit tomorrow. One more night won't hurt."

Ian stared up at him for a few seconds in contemplation before reaching out a hand.

Mickey hesitantly took Ian's hand with a smirk, and then let out a bark of laughter when Ian tugged him roughly down onto the bed with him in one fluid motion. "Asshole," he grunted as he gathered himself and relaxed against Ian.

"One more night, huh?" Ian murmured, pressing a kiss to Mickey's sweaty forehead.

"Might as well," Mickey concurred, trying to play it cool. "We already paid for the shithole."

"Might as well get our money's worth, right," Ian mumbled against Mickey's skin.

Mickey just answered Ian by leaning in for a gentle kiss.

* * *

A little while later, they finally forced themselves to peel away from each other, and they made their way to the bathroom.

The water pressure was shit, the temp of the spray was lukewarm at best, and it was cramped as hell; but being under the spray, wrapped in each other's arms as they kissed slowly, they didn't seem to mind all the rest.

"Can't believe I'm taking a shower with a fucking dude," Mickey murmured as Ian nipped playfully at his shoulder.

Ian pulled back with a smirk. "Out of everything we've done these past few weeks, that's what you can't believe?"

"There you go ruining the moment with that fucking mouth of yours again," Mickey said affectionately.

"Maybe I'll just have to find something else to do with my mouth then, huh," Ian grumbled against Mickey's collarbone as he continued peppering his wet skin with kisses.

"What the hell have you done to me?" Mickey asked hoarsely when Ian pulled away to look him in the eyes. He could see Ian swallow. "None of this makes any fucking sense."

"Maybe it's just something we're not supposed to make sense out of."

Mickey just answered him with another kiss.

* * *

After Ian dropped to his knees and used his mouth in a more productive way, they got out of the shower and dried off, not bothering to dress as they made their way to the bed. They laid side by side and passed a cigarette between them.

"So, what exactly is going to happen tomorrow? We just gonna go our own separate ways and never see each other again?"

Mickey inhaled the cigarette as he stared through the darkness. "At least not for a while. Not until shit with my dad settles, then maybe—" He let his voice trail off, not wanting to make any promises. "I don't know."

"It'll never be safe for us," Ian said sullenly as he took the proffered cigarette. "Not with your dad around."

"Once everything is settled and shit is handled, maybe we can hook up every once in a while and bang. But, until then, we can't be around each other. We'd be signing our own death warrants if anybody ever found out about this."

Ian didn't say anything, just stared into the dark, his adam's apple bobbing, trying to keep his emotions at bay.

"It's just how it's gotta be."

"So, what am I supposed to do? Sit around for months, hoping you'll call me out of nowhere one day when your dad isn't in the picture so we can bang?"

Ian was fed up with feeling sad and hopeless. He was suddenly angry; angry at Terry fucking Milkovich, angry at Mickey for being so nonchalant about it all, angry at himself for falling so fucking easily and carelessly.

"Christ, Ian. Can we not do this right now? What the fuck?"

Ian sat up. "We shouldn't have done this. This was a mistake."

"What the fuck are you saying?"

"This! Us staying here, giving it one more night!" Ian said, his voice heavy as he looked down at Mickey over his shoulder. "We're just torturing ourselves here, Mickey, because we both know—come tomorrow—it's fucking done. It's over."

Mickey sat up and ran a hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

Ian shook his head and looked away from him. "We just keep going around in circles here."

Mickey hung his head and fisted his own hair.

Ian forced himself to look away and sniffed, rubbing at the corner of his eye quickly.

"Hey," Mickey finally said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He placed a hand on Ian's bare shoulder. When Ian looked back at him, he said, "Let's not do this tonight, alright? We can't change our fucked up situation. Let's just enjoy tonight for what it is."

Ian just stared back at him, his eyes giving away his sadness, but he nodded anyway. Without another word, he leaned back and allowed himself to get lost in Mickey's embrace.

Neither one of them said much else the rest of the night. They just laid together in silence, listening to the other breathe.

* * *

Ian woke up the next morning and stretched before even opening his eyes. He wanted to put off waking up for as long as possible, knowing what the day would bring. He forced himself to slip back into peaceful slumber but, after a few minutes, he decided it was useless and gave up.

He rolled onto his side and blindly reached an arm out, intent on reaching for Mickey so they could go a final round, but he found nothing but empty space and rough cotton sheets. His eyes flew open and he bolted upright. Without even having to look around, he already knew.

Mickey was gone.

A sense of emptiness immediately settled over him and he ran a hand down his face, letting out a watery sigh, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that it was actually over.

Mickey left without even giving him a proper goodbye. But then again, Ian realized, the night before had probably been Mickey's version of goodbye.

Ian forced himself out of the bed and sluggishly tugged his jeans on, his motions slow and stiff. He fought back his emotions, wanting to be strong. He knew this had been coming. He had known for days now.

As he was miserably heading to the bathroom to relieve his aching bladder, something on the dresser caught his eye and he slowly made his way over and picked it up with shaky fingers.

It was the receipt for the room payment they had received the night before. On the back of it, in barely legible handwriting, was one sentence, five words: I'll worry about you too

Ian stared down at those five words for a long time, his heart thumping miserably in his chest, his vision blurring from the onslaught of tears threatening to spill.

He stood in the middle of the cold, empty motel room and hung his head, the small yellow slip of paper grasped tightly in his hand.

It was all he had left.


	28. Reality Bites

Ian stopped just outside the gate of the Gallagher home and looked up at it with mixed emotions. On one hand, he couldn't wait to rush inside and scoop up every single one of his siblings in his arms and hug them until they couldn't breathe. _Fuck, he had missed them._

On the other hand, he wasn't ready for all the invasive questions and incessant drilling he knew would inevitably follow after all the hugs, kisses, slaps and tears got out of the way.

Underneath all that, being back here, at this house, meant his life without Mickey Milkovich would have to resume. He was going to have to move on and act as if Mickey didn't matter to him—act as if his whole world hadn't been tipped off its axis in the past few weeks. He didn't know how the hell he was supposed to do that.

_How do you go back to crawling once you've learned how to run?_

As the mixture of emotions whirled through him, he hesitantly pushed his way through the gate with a deep inhale and made his way up the steps and into the house.

"Hello?" he called out when he stepped inside, pulling his beanie from his head and smoothing out his hair. "Guys? Fiona? Lip?" When he didn't get an immediate answer, he frowned and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over the back of the couch. He had expected to be bombarded as soon as he stepped foot inside, and found that he was disappointed when it didn't happen.

He walked into the empty kitchen and looked around, realizing nothing much had changed at all; even the sink full of dishes and piles of dirty laundry looked exactly the same. He had only been gone for three weeks, but it sure seemed like a hell of a lot longer.

A thought occurred to him then, and he realized his family were most likely over at Kevin and Veronica's, where he had instructed them to lay low until he got back. He ran a hand over his hair, vaguely thinking about how badly he needed a haircut, and made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, intent on getting at least a little bit of peace and quiet before all hell broke loose.

Just like the kitchen, everything was exactly where he had left it; his bed had even remained unmade.

He flung himself forward on his bed and deeply inhaled his pillow. _Fuck, he had missed his bed._ He flipped over on his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling, at the familiar cracks and chips in the paint. As he stared, his vision blurred as the tears he hadn't wanted to cry spilled anyway.

* * *

"Ian? Ian, fuck!"

Ian jolted awake a little while later and was immediately faced with Lip looming over him. Without a second's hesitation, he jumped up from the bed and engulfed his older brother in a suffocating hug. He exhaled shakily against Lip's shoulder and hung onto him for dear life.

"Fuck, man, we've been so fucking worried about you," Lip said once they finally pulled back. "Where the fuck have you been?"

Ian sighed. "Long story."

"Fuck that, tell me everything. You can't just disappear for three weeks and then not offer up an explanation. Where the fuck were you, asshole? You call us every three days, you don't tell us shit."

Ian slowly sat back down on his bed, deciding to just give Lip the vague details. "I was kidnapped."

"Kidnapped? Fuck, man. . .by who?"

Ian sighed and ran a hand down his face before diving into a rushed synopsis. "Frank owed someone money, so they kidnapped me to get the money, but Frank—being the fucking heartless douchebag he is—didn't fucking care at all, so one of my captives helped me escape, and we ran away for a few weeks to collect the money. We did some pretty fucked up, illegal shit, got the money, and then came home."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

Lip frowned and scratched the back of his neck as he tried to make sense of it all. "Who kidnapped you? And who have you been with for the past three fucking weeks? I need to know these things, Ian, Christ."

"Look, it doesn't matter anymore, okay?" Ian said tiredly, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep for the next two days straight.

"The fuck it doesn't!"

"It's over, alright? We got the money and everything should just go back to normal now. I just want to put this whole fucking mess behind me, if it's all the fuck the same to you."

Lip eyed him wearily, clearly not okay with dropping the topic, but he decided not to push. Normally he loved pushing Ian's buttons—thrived on it actually—but this time he figured he'd cut him some slack. "Alright, man. . .but don't expect Fiona to be okay with that answer. She's been a nervous fucking wreck since you've been gone. We've practically had to hide out the past few weeks, not knowing what the fuck was going on."

"Where is everyone anyway?"

Lip scratched at his temple. "Fiona's at work, Liam is with Veronica, Debs and Carl are at school—"

"School? I told you to fucking keep them home, Lip," Ian snapped. "It wasn't safe for them!"

"We couldn't really keep them from school without the fucking truancy officers or CPS getting involved. We couldn't chance that."

Ian smarted with irritation and shook his head curtly. He knew Lip was right though, keeping Debbie and Carl out of school for three weeks would have definitely sent the CPS their way. Shit, _his_ ass should've been in school. He just hoped that wouldn't come back around and bite him in the ass.

"Fine, whatever, everything's cool now."

"Is it?" Lip asked, eyeing Ian wearily. "You're sure about that? This is all behind you now?"

Ian thought about Mickey then (but, really, it's not like he ever left his mind), wondering what he was doing at that moment, and if he had confronted his dad yet. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. "Yeah, it's taken care of."

* * *

Mickey hadn't gone immediately home. After leaving the motel and Ian behind, which had taken every ounce of willpower he had in him to not turn right back around and go back to the redhead, he drove around Chicago aimlessly, smoking cigarette after cigarette, his hands unable to stop shaking and his eyes prickling with unshed tears that he refused to succumb to.

He hadn't wanted to leave Ian like that, but knew it would make it easier. He really didn't think he'd be able to leave him face-to-face, so he had done it while he was sleeping. It had probably been the pussy way to do it, but it was the only way he _could_ do it.

He left Ian with the cell phone and some cash so that he could easily get home. He figured it was the least he could fucking do for leaving Ian high and dry, with no explanation. But, then again, maybe him leaving Ian the way he had was a good thing; maybe it was best if Ian ended up hating him. The sooner Ian could move on and forget about him, the better things would be for him.

After a few hours, he knew he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer, so he headed to Canaryville and, much too soon for his liking, he was blocks away from his house; the neighborhood gray, dingy and cold, just as he left it. He cut the engine and sat in silence for a long time, his heart hammering in his chest.

He honestly had no idea how his father was going to react. Oh, he knew it was going to be bad, there was no doubt about that; how bad though, he wasn't sure. His father had threatened to kill him plenty of times over the years and, for the most part, Mickey hadn't taken it completely to heart. Now, he wasn't so sure what his father was or wasn't capable of.

He quickly wiped at his nose and sniffed before finally getting out of the stolen car. With the end of his coat sleeve, he quickly wiped at the steering wheel, door handles, and anywhere else he or Ian may have touched.

Then there was nothing left to do but walk into that fucking house of horrors and face whatever form of hell awaited him.

He walked into the Milkovich house, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He immediately looked towards the couch, half-expecting to find his piece of shit father lying there like a piece of shit lump. He wasn't. He heard movement in the kitchen and strained his neck to find Mandy at the stove. He relaxed a little with a shaky exhale.

Mandy looked up, her eyes growing wide at the sight of him. "Where the fuck've you been, shithead?" she exclaimed, hurrying over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. "Asshole."

Mickey remained stiff but pressed a hand to the small of her back. He took very little comfort in this warm welcoming.

Mandy pulled back and slapped him hard on the side of the head. "Where the hell were you, dipshit? You just up and disappear for three fucking weeks without a word? Everyone's been looking for you."

Mickey just ran a hand over his hair, knowing Mandy probably had no clue about any of it, no clue about Ian. His father, brothers and he always made it a point to keep her out of their dirty work, to protect her from it. "I've been around," he said gruffly.

"That's it? You've been _around_?" Mandy rolled her eyes as she walked back to the stove.

"Where's, uh, where's dad? He around?"

"Where do you think he is? Getting sloshed down at the Alibi Room with his idiot friends. Where else would he be?"

"Do you know when he'll be back?" Mickey asked, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Who the fuck knows. You know dad, he'll probably find some Russian whore to fuck in the alley and come stumbling in at 3 AM."

Mickey left it at that and turned to head towards his room. Once he was behind the safety of his closed door, he walked to his bed and sat down numbly. He stared into space for a long time before tilting sideways to reach into his pocket. He struggled to release the object at first before finally pulling it out.

He had gotten rid of the duffel bags full of clothes and other shit from the car, knowing very well he couldn't keep the shit in the stolen car or take it with him back to his house.

He had managed to keep one thing though.

He stared down at Ian's watch. He knew it had been such a lame fucking thing to do, stealing Ian's watch, but it was the only thing he could think to take. He palmed the watch with one hand, rubbing his thumb across the face of it, and swiped a hand down his face with the other.

* * *

Ian was sitting on the porch, numbly puffing away at a cigarette and blankly staring off into space, when he looked up to find Fiona, Debbie and Carl making their way down the sidewalk. Lip told him that Fiona planned on meeting the kids at their bus stop after school, so he had decided to wait on the porch and surprise them. His heart leapt to his throat and he shot to his feet.

Debbie said something to Fiona, which caused Fiona to howl, her laughter carrying down the street. As they got closer, Carl was the first to spot him. Carl froze, causing Fiona and Debbie to stop as well, and they looked to see what had caught his attention.

"Ian?" Debbie said first, her disbelief obvious.

"What! No!" Fiona exclaimed before tearing the gate open and practically running up the steps to pull her little brother into her arms. "Oh my god, is this for real, are you really back? Oh my god, you piece of shit! You're back! You had me so worried! Where the hell were you!"

Ian hugged Fiona back tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. Soon, Debbie and Carl were wrapped around them as well.

* * *

They all sat around the kitchen table as a pot of water boiled for spaghetti. Ian never would have guessed he'd miss Fiona's spaghetti so much. He was never going to complain when she made it again.

"So, tell me everything," Fiona said, reaching over to run a hand affectionately over the top of Ian's head. "Where the hell ya been."

"Would you accept it if I said I didn't want to talk about it?"

"Shit no," Fiona replied.

"Did you kill someone?" Carl asked hopefully. "Leave town to dump the body?"

"Carl!" Fiona reprimanded with a soft slap to the boy's head before looking at Ian with an arched brow. "You didn't, did you?"

"No. Jesus!" Ian exclaimed as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

Fiona eyed him before looking at Debbie and Carl. "Go upstairs, you two, and get washed up for dinner. I want to talk to Ian alone."

"What!" Debbie and Carl whined simultaneously.

"Don't argue with me, go!"

"This is so not fair," Debbie declared.

"This blows," Carl piped in.

Eyes rolled and chests heaved with deep sighs as two chairs scraped backwards. Once they were alone, Ian looked at Fiona, his distress over the whole situation evident on his face.

"Jesus, Ian, what the hell happened to you?" Fiona asked, reaching over to touch his hand.

"I was kidnapped," Ian began, his voice quivering. Saying the words out loud made it seem even more surreal.

"Who the fuck did this?"

Ian ran a hand over his face, knowing he wasn't going to be able to keep anything from Fiona. She would nag and probe him endlessly until she got it out of him. "Terry Milkovich," he began. "Frank owed him some money, so Terry had his kids kidnap me."

"Fucking Frank!" Fiona exclaimed, gripping her forehead and shaking her head, her anger evident. "That piece of shit! Why am I not surprised he had something to do with this!"

Ian continued. "When it was clear that Frank wasn't going to comply, um, one of his sons decided to help me out, so we skipped town and did some stuff to come up with the money."

"One of his kids helped you? A _Milkovich_ helped you?"

"Yeah. . .his son, Mickey."

"Mickey Milkovich helped you!?" Fiona exclaimed in complete and utter disbelief, apparently quite familiar with the neighborhood thug.

"Yes," Ian said with an aggravated sigh. The last thing he wanted to listen to right now was a lecture and the defamation of Mickey's character. "Look, Fi, I'm really tired. It's been a long fucking three weeks. Can we talk about this later?"

"Yeah," Fiona said after some hesitation. "Yeah, sure. But we _are_ going to talk about this. This isn't just something we're going to sweep under the goddamn rug."

Ian didn't say anything else, just nodded curtly and stood up to make his way upstairs.

Fiona stared at the empty chair where Ian had been sitting, wondering why her little brother wasn't happier to be home.

* * *

When Mickey woke later that night, he glanced over at his bedside clock to see that he had slept for nine hours straight. It was now past one o'clock in the morning and the rest of the house was silent.

He grunted and groaned as he rolled out of bed, every muscle in his body aching, intent on heading to the bathroom to relieve his full bladder.

As soon as he opened his door and stepped out into the hall, he was roughly shoved back against the wall, the air completely knocked out of him.

"The fuck have you been, boy!" his father roared in his face, pinning Mickey against the wall with a firm forearm to his throat.

Mickey sputtered and choked as he gripped at his father's arm desperately, fighting for air. "Pops," he choked out. "Pops, I have the—I have the money."

"Where the fuck have you been!"

Before Mickey could say anything, a fist connected hard with his jaw and the arm that had been crushing him against the wall dropped away and he slumped to the floor in pain.

His father bent over him, and began to completely wail on him.

Mickey did the best he could to protect his head from his father's blows, using his arms to shield himself from the unrelenting punching and kicking. He could smell the whiskey on his father's breath and clothes, potent and strong. He didn't dare fight back, knew there was no use in doing so. He just laid there and took it as his dad unleashed his fury on him.

"Disrespect me! Fucking disobey me! Who the fuck do you think you are, boy!" his father roared between hits. "This'll teach you to fucking go against me!"

When his father had finally had enough, the old man spat on Mickey and then walked away grumbling obscenities under his breath, leaving his youngest son battered and curled in the fetal position in the hallway, his arms still shielding his head as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

Next to his ear, he vaguely heard and registered the faint ticking coming from Ian's watch, and he allowed himself to take some comfort in that at least as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.


	29. Collide

Mickey opened his eyes at the sound of his sister's voice, but didn't dare remove the blanket from over his head, not wanting her to see his mangled face. He wasn't in the mood for her questions—questions he couldn't give her answers to because she couldn't know any of it.

"What the fuck's up with you?" Mandy asked from the doorway. "You've been in bed for the past two days. Are you on something?"

Mickey slowly closed his eyes with a shaky exhale. "Don't you have school? Leave me the fuck alone. Can't a guy get some fucking sleep around here?"

"That's all you've _been_ doing is sleeping," Mandy retorted.

"Leave me alone, Jesus!" Mickey spat, not wanting to be mean, but knowing it was the only way she'd take the hint and leave, "and shut the fucking door behind you."

"Fine. Suit yourself, asshole." She then softened her tone and said, "I made eggs and left them on the stove if you get hungry."

Mickey didn't answer, just pulled his blanket tighter around himself, wishing he could completely shut out the rest of the world.

* * *

Ian pressed his forehead against the cold metal of his locker and groaned before banging his head a few times, causing a few passing students to throw looks his way. He glared right back at them, not in the mood.

After hiding out in his house for two days, he finally decided (with a little help from Fiona's bitching and nagging) that it was time to go back to school, and had forced himself to get up and get dressed that morning. It was time to get some semblance of normalcy back into his life.

After being absent for three weeks, it was clear that his grades were majorly fucking lacking. He was behind in all of his classes, and he knew he had a big fucking hole to dig himself out of.

For the first two months of the semester, his grades had been majorly improving, thanks to Lip's tutoring and guidance. Now, they were completely shot to hell. He knew he'd have to work his ass off from here on out just to struggle to stay afloat, if he ever hoped to still make it into West Point.

He inhaled deeply and then pushed himself away from the locker, rubbing a hand down his face as he looked around the crowded hallway. He froze when his eyes caught sight of Mandy Milkovich walking right in his direction.

Once she was a few feet away, she did a double take, no doubt realizing she was being completely gawked at. "Can I fucking help you?"

Mandy was definitely related to Mickey, that was for damn sure. From the raven black hair, to the steely blue eyes, down to the sharp snarky attitude; Mandy was essentially Mickey with a vagina.

He knew he was treading on dangerous ground just by talking to her, but he pushed ahead anyhow. "You're Mandy, right? Mandy Milkovich?"

"Yeah, who the fuck are you?"

"Uh, I'm Ian. . .Gallagher."

"Okay," Mandy said slowly, looking unimpressed.

Ian hiked his backpack higher on his shoulder as he shuffled nervously on his feet. "You're, um, Mickey's sister, aren't you?"

"Not by choice," Mandy replied, seeming to soften up a little, though she still kept a weary eye on him. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing, really."

Mandy nodded curtly and then started to brush past him. "Good talk, Ian Gallagher."

Before he could fully think through what he was about to say, he spun around. "Uh, hey, Mandy?"

Mandy turned around with a questioning look that was bordering on annoyance. "Yeah?"

"Do you—do you know where I might be able to find Mickey? Where he usually hangs out? I really need to see him—to talk to him."

Mandy's mouth slowly curled into a smirk. "Wait, don't tell me you're actually friends with my brother? My brother doesn't have friends, especially creepy ginger ones." She walked closer, eyeing him up wearily. "What do you need to talk to him about?"

"I can't say," Ian said, swallowing thickly. Mandy was almost as intimidating as her brother. _Almost_.

"You don't have beef with him, do you? Did he stiff you or something? Did he take your lunch money? Are you planning on meeting him somewhere with a bunch of your friends? Just to warn you, my brother packs heat everywhere he goes and he's not afraid to shoot someone."

"No," Ian answered. "No beef. I just need to talk to him about something."

Mandy looked him over once more before finally allowing her hard exterior to crack. "I'm not going to tell you where to find him. You tell _me_ where he can find _you_ and I'll pass along the message. If he decides he wants to meet you, he'll show up," she affirmed with a shrug.

Ian ran a hand over his head and nodded, figuring that was better than nothing.

Mandy waited before blurting, "Are you going to tell me where he can fucking meet you, or are we going to stand here staring at each other all day?"

"Oh, right," Ian stammered. "Uh," he began, trying to think of a place where he could tell Mickey to meet him, someplace safe and secluded, somewhere that could be theirs, if Mickey wanted it to be.

He vaguely considered the abandoned building where everything had started, but thought better of it. He never wanted to return there again. He then thought about another place where everything had started even _before_ that; the very first place he had ever laid eyes on Mickey Milkovich.

"Tell him to meet me tonight, eight o'clock. . .baseball field over on Emerald."

Mandy just gave him a parting smirk as she began to walk backwards, before turning and heading away from him.

Ian watched after her, his heart pounding in his throat. He had no idea if Mickey would even show up—or how he'd even react to Ian approaching his sister—but Ian had every intention on going to that baseball field tonight and finding out.

* * *

When Mandy got home from school, she was surprised to find Mickey actually out of bed. He was sitting at the table, an untouched sandwich sitting in front of him, blankly staring off into space as he smoked a cigarette. She was about to open her mouth to shoot off one of her usual sarcastic remarks, but froze when she saw the bruises and cuts littering his face. "Jesus, Mickey, what the fuck happened to your face?"

"Don't worry about it, alright?" Mickey grumbled. "It's none of your fucking business."

Mandy just rolled her eyes and dropped her backpack on the floor. "Just wondering what fucked up shit you've gotten yourself into this time. You disappear for three weeks, you get the shit beat out of you by god-knows-who, you won't get out of bed, then some fucking redhead was asking about you at school today, wanting to meet you somewhere private—"

"Wait, what?" Mickey asked, his head shooting up. "Back the fuck up. What redhead?" _As if he didn't already know._

Mandy shrugged as she walked to the fridge to grab a diet Coke. "Yeah, some Gallagher," she spit out the last name as if it were a bad word. "Came up to me after my fifth period class and asked me where he could find you. I told him I wasn't fucking telling him anything, that if you wanted to meet him, it would be up to you to show up. He said to meet him at some baseball field over on Emerald, tonight at eight."

Mickey took in this information, not exactly knowing how to feel about it. On one hand, he couldn't believe Ian actually had the balls to go up to Mandy and ask about him—he was both embarrassingly happy and undeniably pissed off at that fact. He had made it clear to Ian that he wanted for Mandy to have nothing to do with any of this.

On the other hand, he was secretly relieved to know that Ian didn't hate him for disappearing on him.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, hoping Mandy wouldn't press for more information, but of course she did.

"So, you mind telling me how you're even associated with a fucking Gallagher?"

"Don't worry about it."

"The kid owe you money or something?"

"I said don't fucking worry about it," Mickey said as he stood up, intent on disappearing back into the safety of his room.

"Just don't kill the kid if you do end up meeting up with him," Mandy called out. "He's kind of fucking adorable. I might have to hit that."

Mickey halted just the slightest little bit before making it to his room.

* * *

Ian walked into the house, dumped his backpack and coat haphazardly on the floor, and then made his way into the kitchen, intent on fixing himself a triple decker sandwich. He had skipped lunch in lieu of getting some homework done, and he was fucking famished.

When he entered the kitchen and reached for the fridge, he found Frank standing at the counter, no doubt searching the cupboards for any loose change he could rob from his own family.

The rage Ian felt in that moment at the sight of Frank was indescribable.

Frank looked up after sensing he had company. "Oh, hey there," he said casually; smelling of cheap booze, piss, and body odor. "You got any money for your dear old dad?"

Ian didn't say anything at first, just stared back at Frank, his anger stewing, his fists tightening. He then let out a yell and bent forward, rushing at Frank and crashing into him, slamming the older man back hard against the counter.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" Ian growled as they both fell to the floor. He straddled Frank and punched him hard in the mouth, instantly splitting his lip open. He kept punching, easily overpowering the weak, drunken older man. "You son of a bitch, piece of shit!" he yelled, hot tears of bitter anger rolling down his cheeks.

Suddenly, just as he was about to beat Frank into a bloody pulp, he was being pulled away by strong arms, and he got in a few good solid kicks to the man's ribs before he was completely dragged away.

"Christ, Ian, enough!" Lip said, holding a struggling Ian back as best he could.

"Let me fucking go, Lip!" Ian roared through his tears as he glared down at a battered, bloody Frank with intense hatred.

"He's not worth it, man. He isn't fucking worth it," Lip said, waiting a few dozen seconds until Ian finally slumped dejectedly in his arms, his breathing becoming slightly less erratic. He loosened his grip on his younger brother.

Ian took the opportunity and shrugged completely out of Lip's grasp. He then trudged through the living room, grabbed his coat, and slammed the door on the way out of the house.

* * *

Ian had a good hour and a half before he had to be at the baseball field, so he aimlessly walked around the neighborhood, taking the opportunity to clear his head and calm his nerves. He shoved his bloody hands into his coat pockets and hung his head against the bitter November wind.

Without even realizing it, he found himself in front of the Kash and Grab. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, thinking the place looked exactly the same but then not the same at all. It felt like a lifetime ago since he and Kash had walked out of those doors and had been bombarded by the Milkovich brothers.

After puffing nervously on a cigarette and contemplating it for a few minutes, he knew he needed to find a job, there was no way around that, not with the squirrel fund severely lacking. The Kash and Grab was, unfortunately, too perfect to let go. Linda was lenient with his hours and the pay was decent for a job where he sat on his ass most of the time.

He just didn't know how he was going to deal with Kash.

He opened the door and pushed his way inside, immediately spotting his ex-lover doing a crossword puzzle behind the counter.

The older man looked up, did a double take, and then his eyes lit up at the sight of Ian. "Ian?" he immediately jumped up from his stool and hurried around the counter. "Ian, oh," he said, grabbing Ian by the back of the head and pulling him in for a tight hug. "Where have you been, I've been worried sick about you."

"Not worried enough to call the cops though, right?" Ian muttered into his shoulder, his arms remaining flat against his sides as Kash hugged him.

Kash pulled away, his expression pain-stricken. "I would have, Ian," he said. "After a couple days—when you didn't show up for work—I went to your family and they told me I couldn't go to the cops. Ian, you know I would've. . .you know I lov—"

"It's okay," Ian said, holding up a hand, not wanting to hear how much Kash cared about him at the moment. That was the last thing he needed to fucking hear.

"Well, what happened to you?" Kash pressed.

"Long story, don't really feel like talking about it," Ian answered sullenly.

Kash pulled Ian in for another hug and kissed his temple before nuzzling his hair. "I'm so glad you're okay. I missed you."

Ian recognized the sudden deep timbre of Kash's voice and pulled away before the older man could get any ideas. He knew that tone. It usually ended with Kash bent over in the cooler. Not today. Never again. "I came to see if my old job was still open."

"Of course, of course," Kash assured, reaching up to cup Ian's cheek.

Ian reached up and grabbed Kash's wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. "Kash, don't."

Kash looked genuinely confused. "What's the matter?"

"A lot's changed," Ian said as he looked down. "I've changed." He then sighed, deciding to just get it over with. "I don't think this—you and me—is going to work out anymore."

Kash stared back at Ian, his mouth opening and closing several times before he said, "Why? What's changed?"

"Jesus, Kash!" Ian finally exclaimed. "You're fucking married. . .to my boss! You have kids! I'm sixteen-years-old! We never should've happened to begin with!"

Kash took a step forward to which Ian took two steps back. He then frowned at Ian. "What's going on? Three weeks ago, you and I were pretty hot and heavy. You couldn't get enough of me! You disappear and then come back, and suddenly you don't want to be with me?"

Ian ran a hand over his face and sighed before saying, "There's someone else, alright? I met someone else."

Kash visibly stiffened, his expression hardening. "You met someone else?"

"Yes, Kash. . .someone else, someone my age. Someone who isn't married with fucking kids!" _'Someone who doesn't even want to be with me,_' Ian thought bitterly to himself.

Kash was silent for a long time before saying, "Well, then I'm sorry. You can't work here anymore."

"What, so because I won't fuck you anymore, I can't have my job back?" Ian exclaimed bitterly. "Kash, I need this job! You know how much I need this job!"

The older man didn't say anything, just turned around and headed back around the counter.

Ian stared at his former lover, wondering what the fuck he had ever seen in the man. "Fuck you," he spat before walking to the door and pushing his way outside.

* * *

Ian made his way to the baseball field. He had no idea exactly what time it was, he was guessing no later than seven. He had lost his watch somewhere between here and Cicero, and knew he needed to get a new one soon.

He walked into the dugout area and spread out on the bench, huddling deep into his coat against the cold, the three concrete walls surrounding him breaking the wind somewhat so that the chill wasn't completely unbearable.

He closed his eyes and inhaled the cold air, letting it expand his lungs to the point where it was almost painful.

He didn't know what he'd do if Mickey didn't show up tonight. Truth was, he wasn't even really expecting him to. Still, he held onto that small shred of hope; hope that maybe Mickey was missing him just as much as Ian missed him.

He dozed off from sheer emotional exhaustion alone and woke up sometime later to complete darkness. He had no idea what time it was or how long he had been asleep. He sat up and looked around groggily, seeing that he was still alone.

His heart sank in his chest and he rested his head back, closing his eyes and trying not to let the disappointment consume him.

It's not like he had really expected Mickey to show up anyway.

He stood up, defeated and frozen to the core, and was intent on heading home, silently thankful that they were able to pay the heat bill that month, so at least he had a warm home to look forward to. When he looked up, he froze in place, spotting a lone figure making their way across the baseball field towards him.

His heart fluttered in his chest, not believing what he was actually seeing.

Numbly, Ian walked his way down and out of the dugout and then started across the field, his heart pounding in his chest as he did so. The closer he got to Mickey, the more the layers of pain and anguish and sadness that had been encompassing him for the past few days stripped away.

Once he was just a few feet away from Mickey, he didn't even look at him. He just grabbed a hold of Mickey's coat with both hands and tugged Mickey desperately to him, letting out an emotional gasp. They collided into each other and dug their faces in each other's coats, both boys letting out shaky, wet exhales as they clung to each other desperately.


	30. On the Fence

Ian kept his grip on the front of Mickey's coat, his face buried in the nylon fabric. He didn't want to pull away, didn't want to let go; afraid it would all just be a dream and that Mickey would dematerialize right before him.

Mickey pulled away first, stealing Ian's breath with him as he went.

Ian kept his eyes closed as they separated. "You came," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"What you did was fucking stupid, Ian," Mickey rasped, cupping Ian's sweet face in his rough hands, whispering his words against Ian's forehead. "You're fucking stupid, you hear me."

"I needed to see you," Ian said, pressing his forehead harder against Mickey's lips, relishing even the slightest bit of contact.

"I told you to keep my fucking sister out of it," Mickey said, even though his tone remained soft, his lips still against Ian's skin.

"I didn't tell her anything, I promise." Ian finally pulled away and looked into Mickey's eyes for the first time in three days, even though it felt like it had been an eternity since he stared into those pretty blue eyes.

"Yeah, well, she's been asking stupid fucking questions ever since."

Mickey's face was shadowed by the street lights, but Ian could still see the bruises and cuts in sharp contrast against his pale skin. "Jesus, Mickey," Ian snapped, pulling away completely. He reached up a hand to gingerly touch the brunette's cheek. "What the fuck happened?"

Mickey ducked away from Ian's hand. "Don't, I'm fine. Jesus."

"Your dad," Ian spat after a few heartbeats, his tone flat and venomous. "Your fucking dad did this to you, didn't he?"

"Well, what the fuck did you think was going to happen?" Mickey snapped, taking a step back. "Hell, I think I got off pretty fucking easy."

"Your dad beat the shit out of you, Mickey," Ian snapped, intense anger coursing through him. "How exactly is that getting off easy?"

"Let it go, Ian," Mickey spat before brushing past Ian roughly and heading towards the dugout. "I got a beat down, he got his money, you're safe, and it's over. It's done. Let it the fuck go."

Ian hesitated with a heavy heart before turning to follow after him.

Mickey dumped the backpack he had brought with him onto the bench and pulled out a beer. "Shotgun?" he asked, fully intent on changing the subject.

Ian watched him before walking over to him. He grabbed his arm and forced Mickey around to face him. "Mickey, look at me."

Mickey froze, his finger on the tab of his beer. He finally deflated under Ian's scrutiny and dropped his head, rubbing a hand at the nape of his neck. "Fuck," he whispered.

"I missed you," Ian grumbled before hooking a finger under Mickey's chin. He tilted Mickey's face up to his and placed a soft kiss on his cut lower lip. "I missed you."

Mickey froze against the kiss for only a few seconds before the beer he had been holding dropped to the ground, exploding in a frothy mess at their feet. He wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and pressed their bodies tighter together, having to almost stand on his tip-toes to reach to kiss him.

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey as they kissed thoroughly. He loved Mickey's lips on his, tentative and sweet. He loved Mickey's fingers running through his hair, tattooed and aggressive. He loved the way Mickey's body fit just right against his; strong but soft at the same time.

He loved Mickey.

"I missed you so fucking much," Ian sighed as he broke away from the kiss only to latch his mouth to Mickey's neck. "So fucking much," he murmured, unable to get enough of Mickey's taste and smell.

Mickey tilted his head back, giving Ian better access. He had come here tonight with the intention of telling Ian they couldn't do this; that he couldn't see him, but as soon as he saw Ian, he knew he'd never be able to find the words.

"Missed you too," was all he said; it was all he _could_ say—the only truth in his whole fucked up situation.

Ian kissed his way up Mickey's neck before latching his mouth to Mickey's again, this time harder and hungrier. His fingers fumbled with a zipper, and then he was peeling Mickey's coat from his shoulders.

Mickey shrugged his coat off, letting go of Ian for only a few seconds, before pressing their bodies back together. It didn't matter that the temperature was nearing freezing; their bodies were burning up just from sheer bodily contact alone.

"I didn't think you'd come," Ian panted as he reached between them and began undoing Mickey's pants.

"I wasn't going to," Mickey answered throatily and then groaned when Ian's hand slipped inside his boxers, palming him. "It's kinda pathetic that you couldn't go three days without me," he choked out.

"You couldn't go without me neither," Ian panted as he continued stroking Mickey. "That's why you showed up."

Mickey just answered by leaning in and taking Ian's bottom lip in his mouth and tugging it between his teeth.

Ian pushed Mickey back roughly so that he was pressed back against the fence. "I want you, Mickey. I want you so fucking bad."

Mickey did nothing to protest. He watched Ian intently, allowing the younger man to take the initiative.

Ian grabbed Mickey's wrists and brought them up, pressing Mickey's hands against the fence behind him. He began dragging his hands back down his arms, but stopped when he noticed something on Mickey's left wrist.

Ian thumbed the object delicately, allowing the realization to sink in. He slowly lifted his eyes to Mickey's intense ones and watched as Mickey visibly swallowed. He didn't say anything, just leaned in and slotted his mouth perfectly with Mickey's, his hands finally making their slow descent down Mickey's arms to slide down and grip his waist.

Mickey kissed him back just as fervently, his hands gripping the fence above and behind his head, letting Ian guide the kiss completely.

Ian pulled back with a gentle tug of Mickey's bottom lip and touched their foreheads together. "You kept my watch," he murmured.

"It, uh, it was either that or your booty shorts, and I wasn't fucking wearing those," Mickey tried to joke, but his words just came out tumbling and shaky.

Ian stared back at Mickey before slowly grinning. Finally, he tossed his head back and let out his first real laugh in days.

Mickey watched him as a smile grew on his own face. A laugh then bubbled from his own lips. He reached out and gripped the back of Ian's neck and pulled him in for a soft kiss. "Come on," he mumbled against Ian's lips. "Let's sit down. There's some shit we need to discuss."

"Discuss?" Ian asked when they broke apart and watched as Mickey readjusted and zipped his coat. "You wanna talk? Talking was the last thing I had on my mind."

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to keep your dick in your pants for a little while longer there, Big Red," Mickey said affectionately as he nodded back towards the bench, motioning for Ian to follow him.

Ian followed Mickey to the bench as he practically pouted.

Mickey grabbed a fresh beer from his backpack, pulled out his butterfly knife and punctured the can, shot-gunning half the beer in three long gulps before handing it over to Ian. He watched as Ian guzzled the second half, his adam's apple bobbing and excess beer dribbling down his chin. Mickey cleared his throat and forced himself to look away, finding the whole thing incredibly fucking sexy. _He really needed to get a fucking grip_.

"Look," Mickey began, trying to maintain some sort of control over the situation. "You can't just go up to my fucking sister, alright. How am I supposed to explain to her why a fucking Gallagher, of all people, is asking about me?"

"I didn't know how else to reach you," Ian said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I couldn't just walk up to your house and knock on the door, not with your dad around."

"You weren't supposed to reach me at all," Mickey retorted sharply, giving him a pointed look.

Ian looked at Mickey, his green eyes shining in the moonlight. "I needed to know that you were okay," he said, his voice soft.

Mickey kept his eyes locked on Ian's before tearing them away. He turned and reached into his pack to retrieve another beer. He handed one to Ian as well.

"So, you kept my watch, huh," Ian asked." I guess that means you missed me as much as I missed you then, huh?" He quirked an eyebrow as he took a sip of his beer.

"Jesus Christ, do you want your fucking watch back?"

"No. It looks good on you," Ian said with a smirk, his lips still pressed against his beer can.

Mickey eyed him before finally smirking himself. "Dick." He then took a sip of his beer, his eyes falling to Ian's bloody hand. "Fuck, Ian, what the fuck happened to your hand? You're fucking bleeding."

"Oh," Ian said, seemingly having forgotten about that. "I ran into Frank earlier. You think my hand is bad, you should see his face."

Mickey snorted. "Good. Asshole deserved it."

Ian placed his can down before moving to straddle Mickey. He grabbed Mickey's beer and placed it down as well. "I don't want to talk anymore."

"Well, we need to," Mickey said as Ian leaned in and began sprinkling warm kisses along his jaw. He placed his hands on Ian's thighs, trying to keep his cool. "You can't just seek me out whenever you feel like it, Ian, and this can't keep—can't keep happening. We can't just meet up like this. If—_fuck_," he stopped and inhaled sharply when Ian nipped delicately at his throat. "If someone found out, we—_shit_—"

"What was that?" Ian asked, pulling back and tilting his head mockingly. "I think you're trying to string words together, but I'm not sure."

"I fucking hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No," Mickey said softly as he slid his tattooed hands from Ian's thighs up to his waist under his coat and finding the skin under his shirt. "I don't."

Ian's breath hitched as he stared at Mickey, their intense gazes holding as neither of them said anything. He shivered then, not knowing if it was from the cold or the intensity in Mickey's eyes. "So, what are we going to do here, Mickey?

"I don't fucking know."

"Well, I don't want to be without you."

"You have to be."

"I can't."

"You've lived without me for sixteen years. I'm sure you'll be able to fucking manage," Mickey grumbled.

"I wasn't really living then."

Mickey stared back at Ian before shaking his head and laughing. "Where do you come up with this shit, man?"

Ian climbed off Mickey's lap, not in the mood to be laughed at.

Mickey clicked his tongue. "Hey, look, come on."

"This isn't a fucking joke to me, Mickey," Ian spat, spinning to face him.

"Does it look like I'm fucking laughing?"

"Actually, yeah, it does!"

"Come on, man."

"Are you serious right now? You really want us to just walk away from each other? You're really okay with not being in each other's lives, 'cause I gotta tell you, Mickey, these past three days have fucking sucked for me."

Mickey ran a hand over his hair and averted his eyes to the ground.

"If I walked away right now, you'd be fine with it?"

"Fuck, Ian, I'm not fine with any of this, alright!" Mickey exclaimed, standing up. "I'm not fucking fine! I wish I could go back and take that whole fucking night back. I wish I never would have fucking met your ass. You think I like feeling like this? You think I like not having any fucking control over anything? No! You fucking wrecked me, Ian, and now I can't even fucking sleep or eat or. . ._fuck_!" he stopped his rant and turned his back to Ian, his chest heaving.

Ian watched numbly as Mickey hung his head and thumbed at his lower lip.

"I don't know what to fucking do," Mickey finally continued, his voice lowered. "If I'm with you, I'll have to live in fucking fear every day, that my dad or brothers will find out about us and he _will_ kill me, Ian. He'll kill me _and_ he'll kill you."

Ian nodded curtly and looked down at his shoes. "I know."

Mickey turned to Ian and eyed him, his demeanor softening completely. "But if I'm not with you—" his voice trailed off and he watched as Ian slowly lifted his head to look at him. "Fuck," he said breathlessly against his better judgment, his voice quivering.

"Hey," Ian said, grabbing Mickey's hand and closing the gap between them. "We don't have to decide anything tonight, okay?"

Mickey nodded and closed his eyes with a soft exhale as Ian pulled him in for a hug.

Ian cradled the back of Mickey's head and pressed a kiss into his hair.

Neither one of them knew what tomorrow would bring; they just took comfort in the fact that they were here together now, tonight.


	31. Strung Out

Ian and Mickey spent another hour at the dugouts the night before, kissing and touching and making out like the horny teenagers they were, until they both stopped being stubborn and finally admitted that it was way too fucking cold out and decided to head out.

Mickey had walked Ian home at a leisurely pace, neither of them in any hurry to get anywhere; taking full advantage of the darkness, and the fact that no one was around, to bump shoulders and steal glances at each other.

Once they reached the Gallagher home, Mickey looked around cautiously to make sure there were no witnesses around before grabbing Ian by the collar of his coat and bringing him in for a too quick, moist kiss in the shadows.

"When will I see you again?" Ian asked breathlessly.

"Ian."

Ian pulled back a little, giving Mickey a look that said everything—a look that said he wasn't taking no for an answer this time—that there was no way in hell he was going to go on acting as if Mickey didn't exist.

"I'll get a hold of you in a couple days," Mickey finally rasped. "Just promise me something. Don't talk to my sister, you hear me? Don't even look in her direction. I don't need her getting suspicious and asking anymore questions. If my dad even catches on that you and I are associated, he'll—"

"I know," Ian said, cutting him off, not needing another verbal reminder of their fucked up situation.

"I wish shit was different," Mickey said with a resigned sigh, his tone softening slightly around the edges.

Ian pressed his forehead to Mickey's quickly, not wanting to take any chances of being seen, and nodded curtly before reluctantly pulling away.

"See ya," Mickey said, turning to walk away, leaving a crestfallen Ian watching after him.

* * *

The next day, Ian was sitting in one of his classes, his knee bouncing anxiously as he ran a hand over the top of his head. He couldn't stand it. Even though he had spent hours with Mickey the night before, he needed to see him again. It killed him not to know when he would see Mickey again. It was like he was being weaned off a drug and he was going through withdrawal. He couldn't eat, sleep, sit still—

When the bell finally rang, he hastily scooped up his books and made his way to his locker. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Mandy Milkovich a few dozen lockers down. He wanted so badly to just go up to her and tell her to relay a message back to Mickey for him, but he knew Mickey would be anything but happy about that, so he kept walking right on past her.

"Hey, Ian Gallagher!"

Ian froze and then turned to see Mandy sauntering up to him, a smile on her face.

"Hey," Mandy said. "Did you end up meeting up with my brother last night?"

"Uh," Ian began, taken completely off guard. This Mandy definitely wasn't the same Mandy from the day before. This Mandy actually seemed pleasant, happy to see him.

"You can talk, can't you? String words together to form sentences?"

Ian relaxed a little and offered her a small tentative smile. "Yeah, I can talk. And no, I didn't meet up with your brother."

"Are you two friends or something?"

Ian already had his story ready; the one he and Mickey had concocted together. "Uh, no. He and my dad had a deal, I was the middleman. Had to meet up with Mickey to pay off his debt."

"Makes sense. Walk me to my next class?"

Ian looked up and down the hall, not knowing how to deal with this. He never expected Mandy to actually come up to him, let alone ask him to walk her to class. "Uh."

"Is that the only word you know?" Mandy asked, looking utterly charmed. She looked fucking charmed, with her flirty smirk and the playful tilt of her head.

Ian knew he was treading on dangerous ground here, but he couldn't really think of an excuse not to walk her to class. And, really, he didn't want to be a dick. "I, uh. . .sure. I can walk you to class."

"So you _can_ string words together," Mandy said, taking Ian by surprise by looping her arm through his. "Come on, Ian Gallagher, before I'm late."

* * *

Mickey's head shot up as soon as he heard the front door open and he immediately relaxed when he saw it wasn't his father. He had been narrowly avoiding his father since the beating he had gotten the other night, but he knew it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again, and he had no idea what to expect. He doubted it was over.

"Hey, shithead," Mandy said, dropping her backpack next to the couch and then hitting his feet, motioning for him to make room for her on the couch.

"Hey, slutbag," he answered back halfheartedly as he returned his attention back to the TV.

"Since when do you wear a watch?"

Mickey's heart jumped a beat at her random question and he mindlessly covered the watch with his other hand. "Since fucking now. Why the fuck do you care?"

"It looks gay."

"Your fucking face is gay."

Mandy rolled her eyes as she leaned forward and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, changing the channel to her favorite soap.

"Do you mind? I was fucking watching that!"

"Yeah, well, now you're not."

Mickey eyed his sister wearily, hoping the topic of the watch would be dropped. Just as he was sure she was done interrogating him and his heart rate was returning back to normal, she said something that sent his whole body and mind reeling.

"So, I hung out with your friend Ian today."

Mickey sat up from his reclined position, the pack of smokes he had sitting on his chest tumbling to the floor. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Mandy had no idea what she was doing to her brother's emotions. "I ran into him at school, he walked me to my class. He's a cool kid."

Mickey stared back at her, turning this information over in his head. He was furious, first and foremost. Ian had promised that he'd stay away from Mandy and here it was, not even a full day later, and the fucking redhead was walking her to her fucking class. _What the fuck_.

Another part of him was jealous; jealous that Mandy had the chance to see Ian at school, had the chance to walk with him to class; all the things Mickey would never get to do.

"You need to stay the fuck away from him," Mickey snapped, his eyebrows shooting up, letting her know he meant business.

"Why do you give a shit who I hang out with?" Mandy asked, her own eyebrow quirked.

"Because," Mickey stammered, knowing he probably sounded all kinds of stupid at the moment. "Because he's a fucking Gallagher, that's why!"

"I've fucked worse," Mandy said with a blatant shrug of her shoulders.

"You've fucked wor—" Mickey began incredulously, feeling as if he wanted to punch a wall at the moment. "You're thinking about fucking him!?"

Mandy shrugged. "He's nice, he's funny. . .and he's fucking ridiculously hot. Why wouldn't I fuck him?" she asked, sneering at her brother. "Again, why do you care who I fuck? You've never given a shit before."

Mickey tore his eyes away from his sister, afraid that she'd eventually be able to see right through him. He couldn't come up with a reasonable excuse fast enough; at least not one that wouldn't make him sound completely psycho.

"I think he likes me," Mandy said, continuing. "He's shy around me, can barely even get out a full sentence. I think it's sweet."

"Alright, just shut the fuck up," Mickey snapped, standing up and pacing.

"The fuck's wrong with you, asshole? Why're you being such a dick right now?"

"I just don't want you fucking with that Gallagher kid, alright? I—I heard he's fagging it up with some fucking towelhead down at the Kash and Grab anyway. He might have, like. . .AIDS or something," Mickey said, waving his hand around in frustration.

"He's gay?" Mandy asked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly before softening again. She then shrugged. "It's okay. I'm up for the challenge."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Mickey muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.

Mandy stood up and grabbed her backpack. "I'm done with this conversation. I'm heading to my room to do my homework and daydream about Ian Gallagher's cock in my mouth." She tossed her brother a saccharin-sweet grin and left him stewing in the living room, for reasons she would never guess in a million years.

Mickey clenched and unclenched his fists and only thought about his next move for a few heartbeats before grabbing his coat and walking out the door.

* * *

Mickey's first stop was the Kash and Grab, knowing that Ian usually worked there after school on most days. He walked into the store and looked around, immediately spotting towelhead back by the coolers. For a split second, he worried that towelhead would recognize him from the night of the kidnapping, but then he quickly relaxed when he remembered there had been masks.

"Aye! Gallagher here?" he called out.

Towelhead looked up, his expression flat. "Ian doesn't work here anymore."

"Why the fuck not?" Mickey asked, confused by the news. "He quit or something?"

"He was fired," towelhead said dryly.

"Fired? What the fuck for?" Mickey shot back.

"That's not any of your business," Kash retorted. "Are you going to buy something or not?"

Mickey stared back at towelhead before realization dawned. He thumbed at his lower lip and let out a dry, unamused chuckle. "You're fucking kidding me? You fired him because he wasn't going to fuck you anymore, right?"

Kash's head snapped up and he glared back at Mickey, utter shock registering on his face. "What did you say?"

Mickey advanced on him. "So, what? He wouldn't stick it in your ass anymore, so you fired him? You know how much he needs this job and you fucking fire him, you pedophilic piece of _shit_ !" He delivered the last word with a hard punch to Kash's gut, causing the man to double over in pain.

"Your wife _will_ find out about this," Mickey whispered sharply into the sputtering man's ear. "You fucking hear me? You're done." He delivered a hard knee to Kash's face before turning and heading to leave. Before he walked out, he knocked over a rack of chips and grabbed a handful of Snickers bars.

* * *

After doing his homework, knowing he still had a long way to go before he was caught up, Ian grabbed his smokes and headed out onto the porch, needing some fresh air. He realized how ridiculous that seemed, smoking while needing fresh air, but he decided not to dwell on that.

The sun was just beginning to set, casting shadows everywhere. He sat down on the first porch step and lit his cigarette before looking up, his eyes falling on a figure standing across the street. His heart rate immediately escalated when he realized the creeper was Mickey.

He shot up from the step and immediately crossed the street.

"Mickey, what're you doing here?"

"I've been waiting out here for almost an hour," Mickey said, avoiding Ian's stare as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"You could have just knocked on the door."

"Yeah, no."

"Look, my family. . .they know you helped me. They know you didn't do anything to hurt me."

"I was still a part of it."

"Yeah, but—"

"I'm not here to argue with you about why I did or didn't knock on your door, fuck."

Ian eyed him up. "So, why _are_ you here?"

"You fucking talked to Mandy today, when I specifically told you not to."

"She came up to me."

"And, what. . .you couldn't fucking resist?"

Ian opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted.

"This isn't a fucking game, Ian. This is my life you're fucking with. If I tell you to stay away from my sister, I mean stay away from my fucking sister, you got it? If you can't fucking do what I tell you, then we're done."

Just as Mickey was about to brush past him to leave, Ian shot his arm out and grabbed Mickey's hand. "Don't go."

Mickey shrugged his arm roughly out of Ian's grasp.

"I'm sorry," Ian said desperately. "She asked me to walk her to class and I—I didn't want to be mean."

Mickey finally looked back at Ian, his resolve softening despite his best efforts to stay hard. "You didn't want to be mean?" he repeated. "Jesus, you really are too nice for your own fucking good." He then dropped his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. "She likes you, you know," he finally said after a full minute, his voice barely audible over the wind.

"What?"

"Mandy. . .she fucking likes you," Mickey said back irritably. "When she likes someone, she usually doesn't stop until she gets what she wants."

Ian stopped him by bravely stepping forward and pressing his lips to Mickey's.

Mickey pulled back immediately. "Hey, what the fuck," he hissed, his head craning back and forth, up and down the street to make sure they hadn't been spotted. "You can't be fucking doing shit like that around here. The fuck's wrong with you?"

"You know you don't have anything to be jealous about, right?"

"I'm not fucking jealous."

Ian stared back at Mickey and licked his lips, wanting him in the worst way. "Come on." He nodded his head backwards, motioning for Mickey to follow him.

"I'm not going in your fucking house."

"We have a van in our backyard," Ian said as he began to walk backwards, his eyes locked suggestively with Mickey's.

Mickey watched him until Ian was halfway across the street and then he followed him, curiosity getting the best of him.

Ian led Mickey to the old rusted van behind the house and opened up the door. He then looked at him over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow, a silent invitation.

Mickey stood frozen, only having to think about it for a handful of seconds, before walking up to the van. As he climbed in, he said, "Can't believe I'm about to get fucked in the back of a van like some whore."

Ian grinned as he climbed in after Mickey, sliding the door closed behind them.

"Christ, you even have a mattress back here and everything," Mickey said as he and Ian both got on their knees facing each other as they hastily removed their coats.

"Yeah, Frank sometimes sleeps in here when we don't let him in the house. So, if it smells like shit, that's why."

Mickey didn't say anything, just wrapped a hand around the back of Ian's neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss.

Ian mumbled something incoherent into the kiss.

Mickey reached between them and quickly began undoing his belt. "I want you in me," he said huskily, not bothering with taking the time to undress. It was too cold for that shit anyway.

Ian watched as Mickey removed his pants and boxers eagerly before turning around on all fours. "I've always wanted to fuck in this thing," he said breathily as he worked on his own pants. Once he was naked from the waist down and positioned directly behind Mickey, he hesitated. "Fuck, I don't have anything on me."

Mickey hung his head and let out a groan. "What the fuck."

"Well, excuse me. I didn't think I was going to be fucking you today."

"You should always keep that shit on you. _Fuck_."

"Well, considering the only man I want to fuck nowadays wants to act like I don't exist, I didn't really think I fucking had to," Ian shot back.

"That's the problem, you don't fucking think!"

"Fuck you, Mickey."

Instead of responding, Mickey hung his head and let out a genuine laugh before moving to lie on his back.

Ian stared down at him in bewilderment as Mickey grinned up at the ceiling of the van, his upper body shaking with his laughter. "The fuck's so funny?"

"This shit with you and me," Mickey said through his laughter. "One minute we're tearing our clothes off, wanting to fuck. . .the next we're ripping each other a new asshole, and not in the good way."

Ian laughed and laid down next to Mickey. He grabbed his coat and laid it out over their bare legs.

Mickey looked at Ian, his laughter dying down as their eyes locked.

Ian stared right back, watching as Mickey's adam's apple bobbed nervously. He reached out a hand and smoothed his thumb over Mickey's cheek.

"You won't fuck my sister, will you?" Mickey asked, his voice dark and deep as he stared intently back at him. "She can be pretty fucking pushy when she wants something."

Ian pushed himself up on an elbow and leaned down, his lips hovering an inch over Mickey's. "The only person I want is you. I'm yours, Mickey," he whispered. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against Mickey's.

"Better be," Mickey murmured against Ian's lips.


	32. Safe Place

Fifteen days passed by in a blur. Two weeks and one day in which Ian and Mickey met up with each other almost every day after Ian got out of school and hid out in the privacy and the safety of the van in the Gallagher backyard. It wasn't always the ideal situation, given that it was the middle of winter and they saw their breath every time they talked (or panted), but they were both willing to put up with it just to be together.

It was their safe place.

On that particular evening, Ian pulled out of Mickey with a satisfied groan and then collapsed beside him on the old dirty mattress, his body glistening with sweat. He pulled his coat up around them to shield their damp bodies from the cold.

"That was fucking hot," Mickey said as he snuggled deeper into the coat with the redhead.

"It always is with us," Ian said, leaning in and muttering his words against Mickey's sweaty forehead. "It's why we keep each other around, isn't it?" he teased.

Mickey closed his eyes and pressed closer to Ian's warmth. He was past the point of caring how _gay_ or _girly_ something felt; with Ian, he was learning how to just _be_ . . . and he had never felt happier or better.

After a few moments of contented silence, Mickey's rumbling stomach cut through the quiet.

Ian laughed and kissed Mickey's forehead again. "I'm going to go grab us something to eat. Don't go anywhere. After going three rounds yesterday, you spoiled me, so you better be ready for round two when I get back."

"Where the fuck am I gonna go? I can't even fucking move right now," Mickey groused, looking as if he were on the verge of sleep.

Ian just grinned at him, quite pleased with himself that he was able to wear Mickey out.

"Grab a fucking blanket while you're in there," Mickey grumbled sleepily, his voice muffled, his face still hidden beneath Ian's coat.

Ian smiled softly to himself and shook his head before sliding the van door open and hopping out, quickly closing it behind him so that he didn't let in any more frigid air.

Once Mickey was by himself, he pushed Ian's coat down away from his face and sat up. He ran a hand down his face before twisting and turning, searching for his own coat that had been peeled off and tossed aside as soon as he had entered the van earlier, before he had been practically bombarded by Ian's tongue.

He finally found his coat somehow pushed all the way under the passenger seat and grunted as he reached to grab it. He fumbled with it before finally reaching into the front pocket and pulling out the small box with shaky fingers. He tossed his coat aside and then looked down at the small gray box, his heart hammering in his throat as he did so.

He knew this was stupid, corny, probably the most ridiculous fucking thing he had ever done, yet he still wanted to do it. Ian made him do things he never would have thought he'd do before; made him feel things he'd never felt before.

All too soon, the door to the van slid open again and Ian hopped inside, out of breath, not noticing the way Mickey's hand flew behind his back, hiding the box from view.

"Fuck, that was fast. Did you fucking run?"

Ian shut the door before settling down across from Mickey. He had a container of barbecue Pringles and two boxes of juice. "This was all I could find." He then tossed the threadbare blanket he had grabbed from the back of the couch onto Mickey's lap. "I had to be quick, didn't want to run into anyone and answer questions."

"Thanks," Mickey grumbled as he eyed Ian up, watching as he opened the tube of chips and chomped on a few. "Barbecue Pringles are my favorite."

"I know," Ian said as he chewed. "You told me. It was one of our first nights in the motel, remember? We were bored and playing twenty questions . . . well, _I_ was playing twenty questions, you were just grunting out answers here and there just to shut me up. You told me that barbecue Pringles are, and I quote, the best things to ever have been mass-produced and that you want them served at your funeral."

"And you remember that shit?"

Ian shrugged. "Yeah. I remember everything."

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat as he nervously fumbled with the box in his hand behind his back. He finally gained enough nerve and tossed the box quickly into Ian's lap. "Well, I remember you telling me it's your birthday tomorrow, so I got you something."

Ian stared down at the box before looking back up at Mickey as he slowly swallowed his food. "You—you got me something?"

"Don't make it into a big deal," Mickey said, pretending to be irritated to cover up his nervousness. He rubbed nervously at his chin and then waved his hand dismissively. "It's not a big fucking deal. It's whatever."

Ian picked up the box and just stared down at it.

"Jesus, just open it. Staring at it isn't going to do anything," Mickey snapped. "It's not the fucking One Ring to rule them all." He then swallowed nervously as he watched Ian open it.

Ian fingered the objects inside and then lifted it out of the box. "They're dog tags," he said.

"Well, look at you, Captain fucking Obvious."

Ian held the dog tags in the air to get a better look, a smile tugging at his lips as his heart fluttered in his chest. On the back of one of the dog tags was an engraved message; three simple symbols that meant more to Ian than Mickey probably knew: I x M

Mickey watched with bated breath as Ian inspected the gift as if it were some expensive, irreplaceable object, when really it hadn't cost him much at all, just a couple Andrew Jacksons and a few grams of weed. Still, the fact that Ian seemed so touched by it meant more to him than he was willing to let on.

"You, uh, you like 'em?" Mickey asked nonchalantly as he thumbed his lower lip apprehensively. "If not, I can take it back; get you some smokes or a six pack of beer or some shit."

Ian placed the dog tags around his neck before finally lifting his eyes to Mickey's, unable to suppress his grin. "Are you fucking kidding me? I love 'em," he said, before leaning across the two feet that separated them and kissing Mickey softly.

The kiss started off slow and tentative; a simple thank you. It soon turned into much more; hot and hungry and dominating as they both poured what they couldn't say into it.

Just as he had found himself not an hour before, Mickey was on his back with Ian above him, their tongues tangling and their hands groping.

"Time to give you a proper thank you," Ian murmured into the kiss as he reached down and palmed Mickey's cock, feeling it respond to him almost immediately despite being completely spent just fifteen minutes before.

Mickey grunted and arched into Ian's hand. "Fuck, that feels good."

"_You_ feel good," Ian muttered against Mickey's mouth. "You always feel so good." He stroked Mickey a few more times before moving his hand even lower down between his legs. When Mickey spread open for him, he slipped a finger into Mickey's still-stretched hole and fingered him a few times before pulling back. He unzipped his own zipper and pushed his jeans down just enough to remove his cock, making sure to keep his ass covered against the cold.

He went to work putting on a condom. They had both made sure to keep the van fully stocked with condoms and lube for occasions such as this; which, truth be told, was every fucking time they were in the van.

Once the condom was on and he stroked himself to full hardness, he pushed into Mickey's moist warm heat and buried his face in the crook of his neck. "Shit, Mickey."

Mickey wrapped himself around Ian as he adjusted to the intrusion. He playfully nipped at Ian's ear lobe and then grinned towards the ceiling of the van when Ian groaned in pleasure. "You gonna move sometime fucking today, ass wipe?" he grumbled affectionately into Ian's ear, once the fullness became almost too much to bear.

"I'll never fucking get used to how good you feel, Mickey," Ian groaned as he pushed himself up on strong arms. He smiled down at Mickey lustfully when Mickey gripped his biceps. He had come to find that Mickey had a thing for his arms. He locked eyes with Mickey as he began thrusting in and out of him, slow and deep. Between them, Ian's dog tags swung back and forth, grazing Mickey's face with every thrust.

"Sorry," Ian said through his panting as he continued thrusting. He reached for the chain around his neck. "I'll take them off for now."

"No, don't," Mickey gasped. "I kinda like it."

Ian stared down at him and grinned before bracing himself on his arms, giving himself leverage to pound in and out of the boy beneath him.

Mickey arched into Ian and dug his fingers into his back under his shirt. When Ian practically growled, he knew it was painful, but he also knew Ian enough by now to know that the redhead liked a little bit of pain during sex; so he dug his fingers in a little harder and gnawed on his bottom lip as he took everything Ian was giving him.

Ian rolled his hips in and out and he leaned down to capture Mickey's lower lip in his mouth, biting at it roughly. He then opened his mouth against Mickey's and they grunted and panted and moaned inside each other's mouths as they met each other thrust for thrust.

Mickey reached between them and stroked his own cock, already feeling his orgasm building. "Fuck, Ian," he gasped into Ian's mouth. "Feels so fucking good. Fuck me with that cock."

"You like my cock, don't you," Ian groaned as he removed his mouth from Mickey's and buried his face in his neck, nipping at the skin behind his ear.

"Fuck yeah," Mickey answered breathlessly as he wrapped his legs tighter around Ian's waist and arched his hips up, taking Ian in as deep as he could. He tugged desperately at his own dick. Ian's dog tags slid across his face and neck and he fucking loved every second of it.

Ian froze and buried his cock deep inside Mickey with one final thrust as his orgasm finally hit him full force, rendering him momentarily stupid.

Mickey held onto Ian tighter and thrusted up, fucking himself on Ian's dick for a few thrusts before finally spilling his come into his hand between their bodies.

Ian rode his orgasm out and didn't even bother pulling out of Mickey as he practically collapsed on top of him, completely spent. Two orgasms in less than an hour was exhausting, even for a seventeen-year-old boy.

Mickey wrapped an arm around a limp Ian and turned their bodies so that they were lying on their sides, wrapped around each other. He kissed Ian's sweaty forehead, allowing his lips to linger on his damp skin. "Happy early Birthday, shithead," he muttered affectionately.

"Mm," Ian moaned, unable to form words at the moment, and pulled the blanket he had brought out from the house up and around them tighter before closing his eyes to sleep.

Mickey watched Ian as he slept, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He leaned in and kissed Ian's forehead once more before allowing himself to also succumb to sleep.

No, Mickey had never felt better.


	33. Control

Ian was casually making his way down the walkway heading towards school, minding his own business; his head down, his stare focused down at his boots, the noises and commotion around him drowned out thanks to the earbuds he wore that were blasting heavy metal into his skull at the moment.

He was caught completely off guard when a tattooed-hand reached out from behind a thick oak tree and grabbed his forearm, tugging him roughly. "What the fuck!" he cursed, stumbling backwards and barely catching himself.

He tore a bud from his ear and stared incredulously at Mickey, who was smirking at him around his cigarette, leaning casually against the tree; as if it were completely normal to find him lurking behind fucking trees.

They were currently out of view from the rest of the student body mingling idly around them.

"Mickey, what the hell are you doing here?"

Mickey shrugged coolly as he looked Ian over. "Wanted to see ya."

"_Now_ ?" Ian asked. "I've been waiting for you to show up for the past two days and you show up now, when I have to get to class? Nice timing, asshole."

"You can't spare ten fucking minutes?" Mickey asked, arching an eyebrow and puffing on his cigarette.

Ian stared right back at him before a smirk finally tugged at his lips. "Only ten minutes?" he asked. "I think I might be able to spare twenty."

Mickey smirked right back, his eyes slowly racking over Ian's body again. "Well, let's fucking go then, Rusty," he said, nodding his head over his shoulder to where the completely deserted football field and bleachers were.

Ian grinned as he watched Mickey turn and head off. He dropped his eyes to Mickey's ass and quickly followed after him, thinking that trigonometry could fucking wait.

As soon as they crouched their way under the bleachers and found a secluded spot far underneath and away from watchful eyes, Mickey spun around and pushed at Ian's chest, pressing the him back against a pole.

Ian let out a soft _'umph'_ as the air was knocked out of him. Just as he was sucking in more air and trying to gather his wits, Mickey leaned in and kissed him hard, stealing whatever breath Ian had left in him.

Mickey dropped his hands between them and began working hurriedly on Ian's belt buckle. "You look so fucking hot in these fatigues, man."

Ian smiled and tilted his head to the side, giving Mickey more room to kiss and nip at his neck. He was suddenly glad he had decided to wear his army fatigues to school instead of just changing afterwards for ROTC like he usually did. Mickey seemed even more riled up than usual. He'd have to wear his fatigues around Mickey more often.

He was about to say something sarcastic, not wanting to miss an opportunity to tease Mickey, but his words got lost in a groan when Mickey shoved a hand down Ian's pants, palming his dick.

"I want you on me, Ian," Mickey rasped against the crook of Ian's neck as he stroked him. "Now."

Ian wasn't in a joking mood anymore. "Well, get these fucking pants off then," he rasped as he reached down and finished pushing his own pants down.

Mickey took a step back, locking his desire-laden eyes with Ian's as he undid his own pants and pushed them down to his ankles. He then turned and braced himself against the poles of the bleachers.

Ian stepped up behind Mickey and pressed against him, eliciting a groan from Mickey when his dick rubbed against his bare ass. He slid his hands down Mickey's sides and around his hips, creating a V as he moved his hands down, but didn't touch Mickey's cock, teasing him. "Did you miss me?" he asked huskily against Mickey's ear.

"Yeah, man," Mickey all but gasped as Ian slowly feathered his fingertips up and down his bare thighs, still refusing to touch his cock.

"Say it," Ian demanded in his ear, his voice low and husky. "Say you missed me."

"I fucking missed you, alright," Mickey spat out. "Now fucking get on me."

Ian smiled as he reached down and grabbed his own dick, stroking it to full hardness.

"Coat, right pocket," Mickey rasped, hanging his head and bracing himself for whatever Ian was about to give him.

Ian reached inside Mickey's coat pocket and retrieved the sleeve of condoms and lube. "Came prepared, huh?"

"Just shut the fuck and let's get this show on the road."

"I love it when you beg."

"Fuck you, asshole, now let's go."

"So grumpy when you don't get the dick," Ian murmured.

Mickey shot him a dark look over his shoulder.

Ian's chest shook with silent laughter as he removed a condom and rolled it on. He then clumsily opened the tube of lube and squirted a liberal amount on his pulsating cock. He then used two of his slick fingers and eased them into Mickey, scissoring them to loosen him up. He made hasty work of it, anxious to get inside that tight, sweet ass. Two days without Mickey's ass had been two days too long.

He gripped Mickey's left hip and gripped his cock with his other hand, slowly easing into Mickey's tight, perfect ass.

"Jesus," Ian moaned as he pressed his face into the hood of Mickey's coat. "Don't ever make me go two days without this ass again, Mickey, I swear to god."

Mickey reached behind him and grabbed Ian's left hip, digging his fingers into his flesh as he adjusted to Ian's cock.

Ian reached his right arm around and wrapped it around Mickey's chest, holding Mickey back and against him. He pressed a kiss beneath Mickey's ear as he finally began to pull out of him. "Feel good?" he murmured when he slid back in, setting a slow pace. His other hand still held onto Mickey's hip, holding Mickey completely against him, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

"Fuck yeah, feels good," Mickey moaned. His left hand was still gripping Ian's hip and he reached his right hand up and grabbed the back of Ian's head. He turned his face over his shoulder and met Ian's lips in a searing kiss as Ian continued easing in and out of him at an unhurried, steady pace.

Ian smiled against Mickey's lips as he removed his arm from around his chest and reached down to stroke Mickey's cock. He began pumping his hand in time with his thrusts. He tangled his tongue with Mickey's, swallowing his moans.

"Fuck, Ian," Mickey moaned, pulling his mouth away from Ian's. His hand still gripped Ian's head, tugging harshly at his hair, but Ian didn't seem to mind.

Ian quickened his thrusts and strokes, anxious to bring both of them over the edge. "I'll never get enough of you, you hear me," he murmured against Mickey's neck.

Mickey gripped Ian's head and hip harder as he braced himself for his orgasm.

"You're it for me, Mickey," Ian mumbled breathlessly as he quickened his thrusts.

Mickey just groaned as a reply and turned his head to meet Ian's lips in another passionate kiss as their bodies reeled from their nearing orgasms.

Ian was the first to come. He gasped inside Mickey's mouth and dug his fingers hard into Mickey's hip as he quaked from the force of it.

Mickey pulled away from the kiss with a bite to Ian's bottom lip as he groaned and his own orgasm washed through him and he spilled himself into Ian's hand.

Ian stroked Mickey a few more times, milking him until he whimpered. He removed his hand from Mickey's dick and wrapped his arm around the shorter man's chest again, holding him back against him. He buried his face in Mickey's shoulder, not wanting to let go just yet.

Mickey was the first to pull away after several moments once they had finally collected themselves. "You need to get your ass to class."

"Class? What's that?" Ian teased with narrowed eyes and a playful tilt of his head. "You really expect me to be able to form coherent thoughts after all that? Your ass makes me stupid."

Mickey smirked as he pulled his pants up and redid his belt. "You need to go get those grades up. I'm part of the reason they dropped to begin with."

Ian watched him for a handful of seconds before stepping forward and leaning down to kiss him sweetly on the mouth. When he pulled away, Mickey looked slightly dazed and a bit surprised.

"Fuck was that for?"

"For showing you care, even when you don't mean to," Ian said with a smirk as he redid his own pants.

"Come on, man," Mickey said, rubbing a thumb over his lower lip, his eyes downcast. "You know I fucking care."

Ian smiled and tugged Mickey to him by the front of his coat. "I know you do," he murmured against his lips. "Meet me tonight after school; the van at six?"

"I'll be there," Mickey said huskily.

"Better be," Ian said with another quick peck on the lips before placing his earbuds back in, shooting Mickey another quirky smile, and finally turning to head out from under the bleachers.

Mickey watched after Ian until he disappeared from view. He ran a hand over his face and let out a shaky breath. "Fucking Gallagher," he murmured under his breath before heading off in the opposite direction Ian had gone.

He didn't realize the smile was still lingering at the corners of his lips until he was halfway home.

* * *

"Hey, Ian Gallagher."

Ian's head shot up and he turned to find Mandy Milkovich standing behind him. For a brief, unreasonable second, he wondered if Mandy could smell her brother's scent on him. Ian sure as hell could still smell Mickey on him. He could still even feel the areas of his skin tingling where Mickey had touched him, grabbed him, kissed him—

"Fuck, are you okay?" Mandy asked, her voice breaking Ian from his scandalous thoughts about her brother.

"Uh, yeah," Ian stammered. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Mandy smiled flirtatiously and handed Ian her backpack. "Walk me to class?"

"Uh," Ian said, looking up and down the hall before looking back at Mandy. He knew what he had to do here. "I'm sorry, Mandy. I can't."

Mandy retracted her backpack. "Okay," she said slowly. "Did I say or do something wrong?"

Ian ran a hand over his head and sighed. "No, you didn't say or do anything wrong."

"So then, what's the fucking problem?"

Ian decided to just go for it. There was no use in beating around the bush—literally, in this case.

"I'm gay."

"I know," Mandy said immediately. "My brother already told me."

Ian was pretty sure his eyes were popping out of his skull. "He—he did? Mickey told you that I'm gay? He talked to you about me?"

Mandy shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah. He was warning me against hitting on you, said I was definitely barking up the wrong fucking tree."

Ian took this information in, trying hard not to smile. He knew Mickey's warning to Mandy meant much more than him just trying to protect his little sister. Mickey had been, in his own fucked up way, discreetly claiming what was his.

"So," Mandy continued with a playful arch of her eyebrow. "There's no chance for a quickie or anything then, huh? Maybe I can turn you straight?"

"Never gonna happen," Ian said with a laugh, thinking to himself that having his dick in her brother's ass just an hour before definitely cemented that fact. But she didn't need to know any of that.

Mandy smirked as they started walking towards their next class together. "That sucks. Word of advice though; if you're ever around my brother again, don't mention the whole gay thing unless you want your ass kicked. He hates that shit."

"Duly noted," Ian said, hanging his head and grinning.

* * *

Mickey walked into the Milkovich house, immediately looking towards the couch to find his pops passed out. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed straight for his room.

For the past two weeks, he had managed to stay on his father's good side; not that his father had a good side, but he had managed to avoid any conflict with him. When his dad was home, which was rare considering he practically lived at the Alibi Room, Mickey spent most of his time in his room, trying to avoid his dad at all costs and it seemed to be working. On the rare occasion he was actually face-to-face with the asshole, his pops would just grunt something incoherent under his breath and keep moving.

Mickey actually couldn't believe that everything seemed to be squared away. All of that buildup in his head and all he had received was a bad midnight beating. He had received much worse in the past for far less offenses.

Just as he closed his door and flung himself backwards on the bed, his door opened and Iggy poked his head inside.

"Hey, fucker."

"Where the fuck you been?" Mickey asked, sitting up. This was the first time he was seeing his brother since getting back, which wasn't unusual. Iggy, and all of his brothers really, had the habit of disappearing for weeks at a time without a word.

"I've been around," Iggy said simply, offering up no explanation as usual, as he walked further into the room. "Where the fuck _you_ been? What the hell happened? You just up and disappeared with that Gallagher kid?"

Mickey sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. "I'm not fucking talking about this with you."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky your ass isn't six feet under right about now," Iggy said, walking over to Mickey's dresser and opening the top drawer. "Dad flipped his fucking lid when he found out you ran off with the homo. I never saw him so pissed in my life."

"Yeah, well, it's over," Mickey said as he watched his brother rummage through his drawer. "The fuck're you looking for?"

"The ruger," Iggy said and then added, "and I wouldn't be so sure that it's over. You know pops. I'm sure he'll think of something to get back at you. He's just biding his time. You don't just get away with what you did. That was some hardcore shit, man."

"Alright, just take the fucking ruger and get the fuck out of my room, Jesus," Mickey snapped, even though he couldn't help the uneasiness that settled in the pit of his stomach at his brother's words.

Iggy grabbed what he came for and started for the door. He froze and then turned back to eye Mickey, his demeanor softening a little. "Why _did_ you help the kid?" he asked. "You knew it was a dumbass move."

Mickey knew he could never tell his brother the reason. "Don't fucking worry about it. It's done."

"Well," Iggy said, tucking the gun into the waistline of his pants. "Whatever the reason, I hope it was worth it."

Mickey stared at the spot where his brother had been standing in long after he was gone.

* * *

Ian was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the van with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Mickey was late, but that was nothing new. Mickey was usually the one to call the shots and Ian didn't mind so much, so long as he got to be around him.

Just as he was about to doze off, completely exhausted from his morning fuck, full day of school and ROTC, the door to the van slid open and Mickey hopped inside, looking rough around the edges and breathless.

"About fucking time," Ian said, but was immediately silenced when Mickey leaned down and kissed him roughly.

When Mickey finally pulled away, tugging on Ian's bottom lip as he went, he sat back and made quick work of stripping off his coat. "I don't want to fucking talk right now."

Ian didn't argue, just sat up and began removing his own coat and then working on his pants. As he was shifting to get up on his knees, a tattooed-hand pinned him back down.

"I want to ride you," Mickey insisted.

Ian just stared up at Mickey, his adam's apple bobbing as he nodded. Mickey had never ridden him before, but Ian wasn't about to fucking argue.

Once they were completely naked except for their t-shirts, Mickey made quick work of rolling a condom on Ian's dick. He then squirted lube in his hands and slicked Ian up before slipping a finger inside of his asshole, loosening himself.

He was still smarting from his conversation with Iggy, and all he wanted right now was for Ian to be balls deep inside of him, and he had every intention on riding Ian's cock long and hard. He had the sudden and desperate need to be in control of at least something in his life.

Mickey straddled and hovered over Ian. He placed one hand on Ian's chest, bracing himself. He locked eyes with Ian as he reached behind himself and grabbed Ian's rock-hard cock. It took a little work and was more awkward than he was expecting, but he finally positioned the head of Ian's dick against the tight ring of muscle and he slowly ease down against it. He gasped at the intrusion and took his time wiggling and adjusting until Ian was finally fully inside him.

"Fuck, Mickey," Ian gasped, digging his fingers into the flesh of Mickey's hips.

Mickey leaned forward, bracing his hands against Ian's chest as he adjusted to the feeling of Ian completely inside of him at this completely new, un-fucking-believable position.

"You okay?" Ian choked out.

"Yeah," Mickey sighed, curling his fingers into Ian's chest, leaving marks. "Feels so fucking good. Fuck, man, you're perfect."

"You can, uh, you can move whenever you want," Ian said throatily, clearly looking as if he were falling apart at the seams as Mickey clenched around him.

Mickey nodded and slowly rocked forward, dragging out a groan from the redhead. He locked eyes with Ian as he set a slow, steady pace, Ian's hands on his hips guiding him.

"Shit, Mickey," Ian choked out. "Keep going, just like that. You feel fucking incredible. So fucking good." He reached up and grabbed Mickey behind the neck, pulling him forward and crushing their lips together as Mickey continued riding him at his own pace. Ian had no intention on hurrying him—he was giving Mickey complete control and he was loving every fucking second of it.

Mickey pulled back from the kiss and pressed his forehead to Ian's. He braced his arms around Ian's head and dug his fingers into that red hair that he had come to love so fucking much. He bit his lip and moaned when Ian's moist lips found his neck. He placed his own mouth next to Ian's ear, wanting so desperately to say the words.

His whole body and mind were reeling from the sheer intensity of it all; the feeling of being so connected to Ian in this new way, the intense waves of pleasure rippling through his body as his orgasm neared, the swell of emotion that gripped at his chest. He had never felt this way about anyone, had never even imagined he could feel this way about anyone, and he wanted nothing more than to tell Ian that, even if it could all end up being a big fucking mistake.

He pulled back just enough so that he was able to look down into Ian's eyes. He slowed his motions as their eyes locked and he licked his lips, his heart hammering in his chest. "Ian, I—"

Ian stared up at him with wide eyes; sweaty, panting and flushed beneath him, waiting.

Mickey found himself smiling softly then, the fear and tension leaving his body. He suddenly wasn't so afraid to say the words anymore. He reached his hand up and swiped his thumb lovingly across Ian's sweaty cheek.

"I—"

Just then, the door to the van slid open.


	34. Spell It Out

Mickey, in full-blown panic mode, immediately slid off Ian's dick and scrambled backwards without even bothering to look to see who had interrupted them. He fell backwards on his ass, exposing himself completely, and quickly grabbed Ian's coat to cover his naked lower half.

"Hello, boys."

Mickey's head whipped around to find Frank fucking Gallagher standing at the opening of the van; looking rough around the edges and overtly amused at what he was seeing as he leaned in to peer inside.

"Did I come at a bad time?" Frank drawled sarcastically.

Ian and Mickey just stared back at Frank, their faces stark white, neither of them knowing what to say or how to react to the situation.

"I guess it's true what they say; Jack Daniels and orange juice mix better than people think," Frank grumbled dryly and then casually followed with: "Get out. This is my van."

"Jesus, Frank! Knock next time, maybe?!" Ian spat, finally finding his voice as he grabbed his jeans and struggled to get them on as quickly as he could in the cramped space.

"I don't have to knock, you ungrateful little shit. This is my van!" Frank ranted.

Mickey's whole body was shaking as father and son argued, his whole world crashing down around him. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears and he hastily got dressed, wanting to get as far away from this fucking van and Frank Gallagher as he could.

"Mickey," Ian called out as Mickey pushed roughly past Frank and jumped out of the van without a second glance back. "Fuck!" Ian swore as he hopped out of the van after him, forgetting his coat and shoes in the process. He vaguely heard Frank shout out something obscene, and then the sound of the van door sliding shut. "Mickey, wait!"

Mickey stubbornly kept walking, his face feeling hot and his eyes stinging with unshed bitter tears. When Ian finally caught up to him and grabbed his arm, he tore his arm roughly from Ian's grasp and spun to face him. "Don't fucking touch me right now."

Ian recoiled and pulled his hand back, his big green eyes conveying his raw emotions. "Look, Mickey. . .Frank finding us, it's not a big deal, alright," he stammered, trying desperately to put Mickey's mind at ease. "It's not."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"Mickey—"

"Frank is on my dad's fucking shit list, and now Frank has this shit on me to hold over my dad's fucking head, because everyone knows that Terry Milkovich would rather slit his own fucking throat than have everyone in town know he has a faggot for a son!"

"Frank's not that smart, Mickey," Ian rushed, his words tumbling out desperately. "He's not smart enough to hold something over someone's head. He'll probably pass out drunk and forget all about it in the morning."

"No, we're done," Mickey spat. "This, you and me," he said, waving his hand back and forth between them, "done."

"Frank's walked in on Fiona and all of her boyfriends, Lip and all his girls; we got nothing to be ashamed of!"

"What fucking world do you live in!" Mickey exclaimed, hating the fact that Ian jumped at his tone, but he knew better than to reach out and comfort him. "My dad _will_ kill me if he finds out about this, don't you fucking get that? This isn't some typical fag melodrama, Gallagher. My family isn't like yours! It's not just gonna lead up to some anti-climatic scene where I come out to my dad, we cry it out and then move on."

"He won't find out, Mickey, he won't. I'll talk to Frank. I'll get him to keep his mouth shut." Ian stepped forward desperately, but was immediately stopped by a strong hand to his chest.

"You don't get it, Gallagher," Mickey said, his voice shaking with emotion. "This was never supposed to be like this in the first place. I should have walked away from this—from you—a long fucking time ago. This, you and me, it ain't happening. There's no fucking way."

"So, that's it? We're over, just like that? Everything we've been through this past month and a half, meant nothing?"

"How many ways do you want me to spell it out for you!" Mickey yelled.

Ian's arms fell limply at his sides and his head began to swim. He pried his wet eyes away from Mickey's and stared blankly down the alleyway, feeling as if he were trapped in some bad nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.

"Move on," Mickey finished sharply, his voice filled with emotion even though he spoke with finality. "It's over." He turned around then, knowing if he stood there and looked at Ian much longer that he would break. Breaking was something he couldn't afford to do right now.

He was already broken beyond repair as it was.

Right now, he had to go home and think of a plan to keep Frank fucking Gallagher's mouth shut.

* * *

Mickey entered the Milkovich home and slammed the door behind him, causing the windows to rattle.

Iggy and Mandy looked up from the table where they were playing Gin Rummy and tossing back a couple of beers.

"Fuck's up with you?" Mandy asked as soon as she saw her brother's despondent expression.

Mickey ignored her, focusing his attention on Iggy as he rubbed his bottom lip. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm playing a fucking game here" Iggy snapped, placing down a card and nodding at Mandy to signal that it was her turn. "Can't it wait?"

"Now, asshole!"

Iggy fully looked at his brother, knowing with one look that he meant business. He tossed his cards down with a sigh and stood up to follow Mickey into his bedroom.

"Who's getting their ass kicked now?" Mandy called out. "Don't you fuckheads ever just take a break? Why does everything have to resort to violence with you idiots?"

"Don't fucking worry about it," Mickey spat as he closed the door.

"The fuck's the matter with you?" Iggy asked as he sat down on Mickey's unmade bed. He watched as his brother paced back and forth in front of him, rubbing nervously at his bottom lip.

Mickey stopped suddenly and faced his brother. "I need to kill Frank Gallagher. Tonight."

Iggy chortled. "You want to kill Frank Gallagher? Who the fuck doesn't?"

"No, I mean I _really_ fucking need him gone," Mickey went on desperately. "Like, he needs to not be breathing anymore."

"Alright, man, chill out for a minute," Iggy said, finally becoming serious. "What the fuck did the guy do?"

"I'm not getting into that. It doesn't fucking matter what he did, I just need him gone. You in?"

"Does it have something to do with that Gallagher kid?"

"No, fuck! I told you I'm not getting into it. Look, are you in or out? If not, I can do it my-fucking-self," Mickey asked impatiently.

"I'll do whatever you need me to do," Iggy answered with no hesitation.

Mickey nodded and ran a hand nervously over his mouth.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Hey, dipshit," Mandy called through the door. "You have company."

Mickey flung the door open, intent on telling his baby sister to politely fuck off, and was immediately shell-shocked when he found Ian standing next to her, his hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets and his posture stiff. For a split second, he was frozen under the pained scrutiny of those sad fucking green eyes.

". . . What the fuck."

"I need to talk to you," Ian said, his voice unsteady, but he seemed to keep it together for the most part under the watchful eyes of Mickey's siblings.

"Well, now's really not a good fucking time," Mickey responded sharply.

"You two mind telling me what the fuck's going on?" Mandy asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she regarded the two of them. "Is Ian the guy whose ass you're going to kick? You really had to ask for Iggy's help with that, asshole?"

"What did I tell you about minding your goddamn business?"

Iggy stood up from the bed, but remained quiet as he assessed the situation.

Mickey continued glaring back at Ian, wondering what nerve he had coming over here. "Leave us alone for a second," he said through gritted teeth.

"But—"

"Now, both of you!" Mickey ordered. "Jesus Christ, does no one fucking listen around here?"

Iggy brushed past them and left the room without another word.

"Fine," Mandy said, throwing her hands up in the air, "but if you beat his ass, I'm beating yours," she warned her brother with a hard poke to the chest. "I'm not cool with the whole fag-bashing thing. That'd be low, even for you."

"Get the fuck out," Mickey exclaimed, his eyes still glued on Ian's.

"Calm the fuck down, Jesus," Mandy said before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Once they were alone, Mickey turned away from Ian and paced to the other side of the room. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked flatly.

"I needed to see you."

Mickey turned around, his anger flaring. "You needed to s—are you out of your fucking mind? What the fuck were you thinking just showing up here, Ian? What if my dad would've been here, man? And what about Mandy? You know she's going to ask a million fucking questions now! What the hell am I supposed to tell her?"

"I don't care," Ian said stubbornly, stepping closer and watching as Mickey took another step back. He heaved a sigh and continued. "I don't care about your dad or your sister, Mickey. I care about _you_ and I'm not letting you go. We're not done."

"You're a daft motherfucker, aren't you?"

"Mickey, you can't spend your whole life living in fear of what other people will think of you."

"You think that's what this is? That I'm afraid of what people will think of me?"

"Yes."

Mickey laughed dryly and turned a little, thumbing his bottom lip. After a while, he spoke, his voice uneven. "You know when I was six my dad broke my arm? Broke it straight in half. I was running through the house, chasing one of my brothers, and I accidentally knocked into the table and spilled his beer. He snapped my arm without a second's hesitation."

Ian stared back at Mickey, not knowing what to say.

"One time, he," Mickey continued, his voice wavering slightly. He cleared his throat. "One night, when I was about ten, I was cold so I turned the furnace up. _Big_ fucking mistake. You know what he did? He made me strip naked and stand out in the middle of the yard in the dead of winter for a half an hour until my fucking brother had to beg him to let me back in." He finally looked at Ian pointedly. "What the _fuck_ do you think he'd do to me if he found out I'm a fucking faggot; who takes it up the ass, no less?"

"Mickey," Ian said, taking a step forward but he stopped when he saw Mickey recoil.

"Don't fucking stand there and act like you know anything about this!" Mickey exclaimed, his tears finally betraying him. He angrily wiped at his cheeks, avoiding Ian's intense stare. He felt open and exposed and he hated it. "You need to get outta here."

"I can't."

"Fucking leave!" Mickey yelled. He then strode over to Ian, grabbed him by the biceps, and pushed him backwards roughly.

Ian's back connected hard with the wall, the air whooshing from his lungs.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Mickey yelled, aggressively slapping the wall next to Ian's head.

"I can't, Mickey," Ian said, realizing he was crying now too. "I can't."

Mickey moved closer so that they were only inches apart. "I said get the fuck out of here," he said, his voice low and hard and rough.

"Mickey," Ian said softly, bravely reaching up and cupping his right hand over Mickey's cheek, sliding his thumb across to capture a tear that Mickey had never meant to let fall.

"Go," Mickey muttered again, pressing his forehead to Ian's.

Ian reached his other hand up and engulfed Mickey's face completely. He leaned in and pressed his soft lips to Mickey's tears.

Mickey pressed tighter against Ian, squeezing his eyes shut as he cried. He'd never cried in front of anyone, but right now he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. The feeling of Ian caressing his face and kissing his tears away was comforting in a way he'd never known before.

"I'm going to talk to Frank, Mickey," Ian whispered against Mickey's wet cheek.

"It's not that fucking easy," Mickey muttered right back.

Ian pushed Mickey's face back a few inches and searched his wet eyes. "It's never going to be easy, not for us, not here. But I'm willing to fight if you are."

"You're a fucking dumbass, you know that," Mickey muttered. He froze when Ian leaned in and kissed him. And then he melted a little when Ian opened his mouth to him.

They kissed lazily, their lips softs and their tongues tangling through the salty taste of Mickey's tears.

Mickey pressed closer against Ian, his palms still flat against the wall, caging him in.

Ian dropped his hands from Mickey's face and then down between them, going straight for Mickey's belt. "I want you," he whispered when they pulled apart to breathe.

"Not here," Mickey rasped, though he didn't stop Ian when he reached inside his pants to palm him.

"I can be quiet," Ian mumbled, leaning in and capturing Mickey's lips with his own again. "Plus it could be kinda hot; the idea of getting caught," he murmured against Mickey's lips.

"This isn't a joke."

"I know," Ian whispered. "I just want you, Mickey. I always want you."

Mickey pulled away and searched Ian's eyes. It was on the tip of his tongue to send Ian packing, to end this thing once and for all, but instead he found himself leaning over the couple of feet towards the door and turning the lock on the knob.

Ian let out a gasp when Mickey suddenly wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him away from the wall, before they collapsed on the bed, Ian on the bottom.

"Hey, no fucking noises," Mickey whispered. "Be quiet."

"Well, kiss me then," Ian said, fisting Mickey's shirt and tugging him down.

Mickey kissed Ian roughly, dispensing some of his pent-up frustration through the kiss.

Ian didn't protest though, only kissed him back just as hard, his right hand gripping Mickey's hair and his free hand grabbing at Mickey's ass, pulling him down tighter.

"You feel so fucking good," Mickey whispered into the crook of Ian's neck as he began to slowly dry hump him, their erections rubbing together through their jeans.

Ian gasped and then felt a hand go over his mouth. He opened his eyes to find Mickey staring down at him, his eyes dark with desire.

Mickey kept grinding against Ian, the friction of their cocks pressing together through their jeans—coupled with the fight serving as foreplay—was enough to make them both already close to coming. He kept his hand pressed to Ian's lips, stifling Ian's groans and he had to bite his lower lip to silence his own. "Feel so good, Ian" he mumbled.

"Hey, numb nuts!" Iggy suddenly called through the door.

Mickey flew off Ian in an instant, the color draining from his face. "Fuck. . .what!" he called out, his wild eyes glued to Ian's.

"You want to go in on this pizza with us?"

"Yeah, sure, what the fuck ever!"

"Everything cool?" Iggy asked. "We heard some thumping and yelling. Gallagher still alive in there? Should I get the tarp?"

Mickey's eyes involuntarily fell to the obvious erection straining against the front of Ian's jeans. "Yeah, he's still fucking alive. Now give me a minute, fuck!"

Once they heard Iggy shuffling away, Ian looked at Mickey, the color drained from his face.

"Get outta here," Mickey said, with much less conviction as he turned away from Ian. "That was fucking stupid of us."

"Mickey—"

"Go!"

"What about us, Mickey?"

"There is no us right now, alright? There fucking can't be."

Ian sniffled and then nodded, realizing Mickey needed some space, that was all. There was no way this was over between them. He would just back off for a few days and things would be okay. "Okay," he finally said. "Okay, I'll go."

Mickey's finally lifted his wet, downcast eyes as Ian turned to leave.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed once he was alone and the door was shut, sweeping his arm across his dresser and shoving everything off and crashing to the floor in one angry sweep.

Meanwhile, Ian hung his head as he made his way through the living room and towards the front door.

"Hey, are you okay?" Mandy called out, but was answered by the sound of the front door shutting. She sighed and then turned to look at Iggy. "What the hell do you think that was about?"

"Fuck if I know." Iggy just stared at nothing in particular as he mindlessly played with his stack of cards, the image of Ian Gallagher's tear-stained face etched in his mind.

He didn't know what the fuck was going on between his brother and the Gallagher kid, but he was damn sure intent on finding out.

* * *

Ian opened the back door to the Gallagher home and quietly entered the dimly-lit kitchen, relieved to see that it was empty. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and collapsed onto it before burying his head in his hands, trying to compose himself; trying to wrap his head around everything.

"Ian?"

Ian's head shot up to find Fiona standing at the bottom of the stairs, tying the belt to her robe and looking at him with the same apprehensive look she usually gave him these days. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Ian lied. "I'm fine. Just tired, 'sall."

Fiona walked further into the kitchen and grabbed the tea kettle. "I can't sleep. I thought I heard you come in," she said. "Want some hot cocoa?"

Ian smiled faintly, wanting to tell his sister that he just wanted to be left alone, but he knew he had been doing that far too often lately and she didn't deserve that. "Sure."

Once the water was on the stove, Fiona joined him at the table. ""You wanna tell me the truth now?" she asked, giving Ian her patented Fiona smirk; the smirk that told him to cut the bullshit.

Ian ran a hand down his face. "I've just been going through some things lately."

"Well, like what?"

"Stuff I can't really talk about."

"Like hell. You know you can tell me anything."

"Not this."

"Christ, Ian," Fiona exclaimed. "You need to talk to me. You were fucking kidnapped, for fuck's sake." She then dropped her voice when she remembered what time it was. "Whatever you're going through, I want to be here for you."

Ian nodded his head and stared down at the table, his eyes cloudy with unshed tears.

"Hey," Fiona said, reaching out a hand to place over his.

"There's a guy," Ian finally blurted out, "and it's really fucking complicated."

Fiona took in his admission and then laughed. "A guy? _That's_ what's gotten you so bent out of shape lately?" She then seemed to exhale with relief. "Jesus, Ian. . .and here I thought you were going through some sort of PTSD shit! You're really spazzing out over a guy?"

Ian looked at her and then finally let out a bark of laughter. He reached up and rubbed at the corner of his eye. "Hey, fuck you."

Fiona smirked affectionately as the kettle on the stove began to whistle. As she stood up, she rubbed playfully at his hair. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No, not really," Ian said sullenly.

"Well, you know I'm here if you do."

Ian smiled softly. "I know."

* * *

Mickey pulled open the top drawer of his dresser and stared down at his collection of guns, ammunition and any other general criminal paraphernalia he had picked up over the years.

He eyed the ruger Iggy had replaced earlier, thinking it was as good a weapon as any to get the job done. After a few heartbeats, he swore under his breath and slammed the drawer shut.

He wasn't going to go through with it. As much as he wanted to fucking kill Frank Gallagher, he knew he couldn't.

He knew, deep down, that as much as Ian claimed to hate the guy, he didn't want him dead; and that was enough for Mickey to know he wasn't going to go through with it.

"Fuck," he muttered again as he walked to his bed and flung himself backwards to stare up at the ceiling.

He didn't know what the fuck he was going to do. Frank Gallagher knew his deepest, darkest secret; a secret that, if revealed, could get him and Ian both killed.

Maybe he could just rip out the guy's tongue or something, so he wouldn't be able to talk; maybe cut off his hands so he wouldn't be able to write. Cut off any fucking part of Frank Gallagher that would be able to communicate anything, so he'd have no other choice but to keep his fucking mouth shut.

The door to his room opened and Mandy stuck her head inside. "You okay?"

Mickey was too emotionally worn out to snap at her. "Yeah," he said gruffly.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No."

"It got a little intense in here earlier," Mandy pressed. "Ian left crying. Kinda thought maybe something went down that you'd wanna talk about?"

"Fuck off."

"He try coming onto you or something?"

"Is he still alive?!" Mickey snapped, putting up a front, knowing his sister was borderline suspicious and he had to cut that off real fucking quick.

Mandy nodded her head and then ducked out of the room.

Mickey continued staring up at the ceiling, swallowing thickly and blinking back the tears. He wanted nothing more than to leave that fucking house and seek out Ian and tell him he didn't mean anything he'd said earlier, that the last thing he had wanted was for him to go, but he didn't. He couldn't.

Now that Frank knew about them, and after the close calls with his brother and sister, he knew it had to be over for good this time.

He was going to have to cut all ties with Ian completely.


	35. Confrontations and Confirmations

Ian had been more than willing to give Mickey a few days to calm down, sort his shit out, get things into perspective; whatever he felt he needed to do to move forward. Hell, Ian knew it was probably a good idea for himself to take a couple steps back for a few days, to step away from the intensity of it all.

He kept himself busy with school, ROTC and helping Fiona out with his siblings as much as he could. He did anything and everything he could do to at least try to keep his mind somewhat off of Mickey (though he failed miserably most days.)

When a full week and two whole days passed with still no sign or word from Mickey, Ian couldn't help but to start worrying.

In school, any time he spotted Mandy between classes, he used all of his willpower to not go up to her, knowing that asking Mandy about Mickey would only make things about a million times worse, cast more suspicion that they didn't need. He knew he couldn't actually go to the Milkovich house, that was even _more_ dangerous, and he had learned his lesson from last time.

So, really, he had no way whatsoever of getting a hold of Mickey and he had to wait for Mickey to reach out to him, and it was driving him crazy and he was starting to get desperate.

He was pacing back and forth in his bedroom, feeling Lip's eyes on him the entire time.

"Dude, what the fuck's your problem?" Lip finally asked from his spot on his bed, the book he had been reading now lying face down on his chest.

"I don't have a problem. What's your problem," Ian said lamely as he continued pacing.

"You've been pacing for the past ten minutes. Chill the fuck out, man."

Ian suddenly stopped and then turned to look at his brother, knowing what he was about to do was potentially the dumbest thing he had ever done in his life and, truth be told, that was saying a lot because he'd done some pretty stupid shit in his life.

But he had to tell someone. He couldn't keep this to himself any longer. And what better person to tell than his reliable big brother?

"I've been fucking Mickey Milkovich."

Lip sat up straight, the book crashing to the floor. "You're fuc—Ian, what the fuck! Please tell me those words didn't just come out of your mouth."

Ian slowly sat down on the edge of his own bed and grabbed his knees, feeling the color drain from his cheeks under his brother's baffled scrutiny.

Lip ran a hand over his face and then over the back of his neck, obviously trying to process the bizarre information. "Can you please just explain to me how you ended up fucking the guy that kidnapped you? Seriously, Ian, how do you get yourself into these situations?"

"He didn't kidnap me, not really. He was only doing what his dad told him to do."

"Ian, holding you at gunpoint, shoving you into a car against your will, tying you to a chair in an abandoned building...that's fucking kidnapping."

Ian shook his head abruptly. "No. No, you don't know him, Lip."

"Neither the fuck do you!" Lip exclaimed.

"Like hell I don't!" Ian exclaimed, startling his brother. "I know him, okay? I may have only known him for a little less than two months, but I know him and he knows me. You—you wouldn't understand."

"You're right, I don't fucking understand," Lip concurred. "So explain it me. First your married boss, and now you're fucking your kidnapper? Fuck, Ian."

Ian slapped his knees and tried to find the right words. "He saved me, okay? His dad would've killed me, and he could have sat back and did nothing, but he saved me. He ran with me, put his own life in danger. We spent three weeks in a motel room and we talked, like _actually_ fucking talked, Lip, and we fucked . . . a lot."

Lip groaned and buried his head in his hands. "I don't fucking need to know that, Jesus, Ian!"

"I care about him, okay, and I needed to talk to someone about this."

Lip eyed Ian oddly and finally softened around the edges, seeing that his little brother was obviously in distress. "And you know you can come to me about anything, even—fuck—even this. I may not fucking understand it or like it, but you can come to me."

Ian let out a sigh of relief, a small weight lifting from his shoulders. "I haven't heard from him in a week and a half. I have no way of getting a hold of him. He's supposed to just be taking some time to clear his head, but I'm worried. I'm worried because who the fuck knows what his dad is capable of."

"I'm sure he's fine," Lip said dryly. "Something tells me Mickey Milkovich can take care of himself."

"I need you to find him for me, Lip," Ian interrupted. "I need you to find him and I need you to give him a message for me. I need to see him. I need to know that he's okay."

"You want me to go out and find your kidnapper, who you happen to be fucking now, and convince him to come see you?" Lip asked incredulously.

"I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important to me, okay? Will you just quit being a judgmental asshole and fucking do this for me, please?"

Lip contemplated for longer than Ian would have wanted him to before finally sighing. "Alright, fine. I'll go find your psycho fuck buddy. But I'm only doing it because I fucking care about you."

Ian smiled softly. "I know you do."

"I still think you're a fucking idiot."

* * *

Mickey was sitting in bed, reclined back against the headboard, his half-full bottle of whiskey locked firmly in his grip. He was staring ahead blankly at nothing in particular as he allowed the alcohol to do its job; numbing his insides, numbing everything.

He brought the bottle to his lips and took another swig, coughing slightly at the bitter taste at the back of his throat and relishing the burn when the liquor made its way to his empty stomach.

There was a knock on his bedroom door and he didn't even bother acknowledging or even looking up when Mandy stuck her head in. "You have company."

"Tell them to fuck off, I'm busy," Mickey spat before taking another swig, figuring it was some random druggie looking for something to score, even though he hadn't sold in a couple months.

"It's Lip Gallagher," she said with a frown. "Says he has something to settle with you?"

Mickey finally looked at Mandy, his head swimming slightly at the sudden movement. He reluctantly brought the bottle back to his lips and sipped. "Fuck. Whatever. Let him in," he slurred.

"The fuck's up with you and all these Gallaghers lately?" Mandy asked with a sneer before turning around to retrieve Mickey's unwanted guest.

Moments later, Mandy and Lip were standing awkwardly in his doorway.

"Give us a minute," Mickey said, eyeing Lip suspiciously with hooded eyes, wondering what the fuck he was doing there. He vaguely recognized the pretentious-looking douche from high school.

Mandy smirked and then walked away, missing the fact that Lip stared at her ass as she did so.

Lip looked back at Mickey to find that he, however, had not missed the blatant display.

"You seriously checking out my fucking sister right now?"

"You seriously fucking my brother?" Lip shot back and that shut Mickey up real quick.

Mickey looked away from Lip, scoffed, and took another long swig, not having the frame of mind or energy to deny anything. In the back of his fuzzy, addled mind, he knew he should be pissed the fuck off at Ian for spilling the beans to his brother, but he was too inebriated to think too much about it.

He didn't want to think about Ian at all actually; that was the whole point of this whole drinking thing.

"Look, I'm just going to cut right to the chase here. The last thing I want to be doing right now is convincing you to go see my little brother, but, for some reason, he wants to see you."

"Can't," Mickey said bluntly.

"Why the fuck not? After all you've done to him, I think you owe him that much, don't you," Lip said flatly.

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?" Mickey slurred, giving Lip his darkest look.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" Lip snapped. When Mickey kept glaring, he continued, "You kidnapped him, held him at gunpoint, took him away from his family for three weeks, took him from school, his training, traumatized him...no need for me to really go on, is there?"

Mickey took another swig, his bleary eyes focused on the wall.

"And now you're going to fucking ignore him, right? You fucked him a few times, you got what you wanted, so now you don't need anything from him anymore, is that it?"

"You don't fucking know shit," Mickey cut him off roughly. "I lo—" He immediately shut up, not wanting to finish that sentence; knowing that finishing that sentence was potentially lethal.

"So enlighten me. Tell me about this awesome, inexplicable bond you and my brother suddenly seem to have."

"Fuck off."

"Eloquent."

Mickey just shot him the finger in response.

Lip eyed him disdainfully and then chuckled with a shake of his head. "Right, okay. I'm going to go. Just stay sitting there, drinking your whiskey and being fucking useless. I tried telling Ian you aren't worth it, but he doesn't want to listen. I'm sure he'll figure it out on his own soon enough."

Mickey took in Lip's words, trying to appear unaffected by them, though he could feel prickling at the very corners of his eyes. He decided to shut those emotions up as well with another gulp of his Jack.

"So, nothing to say?"

"Yeah," Mickey slurred. "Tell your brother to move the fuck on. I have."

Lip scoffed and shook his head before turning to go.

Mickey barely acknowledged Lip's departure, just continued drowning himself in his bottle.

* * *

Ian was sitting at the kitchen table and immediately shot to his feet when Lip entered the kitchen through the back door. "What happened?"

Lip looked at him, his face saying it all. "I tried talking to him, man; went to his house and everything."

"And?" Ian pressed eagerly.

"He told me to tell you to move on. It's over."

"No, I don't believe it," Ian said, shaking his head. "He didn't mean that."

"Fuck, Ian!" Lip suddenly yelled. "Look, I know you think you feel something for this fucking guy, but he's useless, okay? He's nothing but trouble, scum. He's a goddamn Milkovich for fuck's sake! It's fucking clear as shit he doesn't give a fuck about you! I just—I don't want you to get hurt. As your older brother, someone who _actually_ loves you, I'm begging you to just stay the fuck away from him."

"I can't do that," Ian said, undeterred. "I don't believe it. I know what he felt with me, you can't fake that."

Lip eyed Ian for a long time before finally sighing and shaking his head. "Alright, man. I can't stop you. But I'm telling you, nothing good is going to come from this. You're only going to get hurt. He doesn't give a shit. I wouldn't lie to you about that."

Ian flinched a little as Lip brushed roughly past him. He stared at the floor, trying not to let Lip's words get to him, but failing.

* * *

After another three days passed and still no word from Mickey, Ian decided desperate times called for desperate measures. He stared up at the rundown Milkovich house, his heart pounding in his throat and his palms sweating.

He knew he was taking a huge risk by showing up here, but he didn't care anymore. He was desperate. He climbed up the rickety steps to the cluttered porch and knocked on the door, taking a giant step back and getting prepared to run like hell just in case Terry opened the door.

Mandy opened the door a few seconds later, looking surprised to see him standing there. "Ian, what are you doing here?"

After sighing in relief to see Mandy answer and not her monster father, he gathered his wits. He knew he couldn't ask for Mickey outright, it would appear too suspicious. "Wanted to see if you wanted to maybe hang out."

He had expected her frown, since they hadn't spoken to each other since the last time he'd been in this house, and they were far from friends, but he was desperate here, like really fucking desperate.

"You wanna hang out?"

Ian shrugged and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "Yeah."

Mandy thought about it for a few moments and then shrugged. "Sure, don't have anything else to do." She stepped aside and held the door open for him. "I have the place to myself actually. Mickey and my dad went on a run earlier. They'll probably be gone all day."

Ian froze as Mandy shut the door behind them. "A run?"

"Yeah, something with drugs and collecting money," Mandy said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I don't know too much about it and don't care to. And you don't know about it either, got it?" she quickly added as a precaution with a finger poke to his chest.

"Yeah, got it," Ian said distractedly.

"You better."

"So, your brother went on a drug run...with your dad," Ian said monotonously, his heart lying somewhere down by his feet. The very thought of Mickey being alone with his dad was unsettling enough; the fact that Mickey was doing something illegal and completely dangerous was devastating to him. It seemed as if Mickey was reverting right back to his old life, no qualms about it.

"Yeah. I think they went to bond or something. Thing's have been pretty shitty around here lately, like more than usual. Tense, you know."

As he followed Mandy into the living room, he tried to keep a straight face, tried to keep himself composed, even though he felt as if he could vomit at any moment.

"I have some nitrous," Mandy said, breaking him from his gloomy thoughts. "You want?"

"Yeah, sure," Ian said dumbly, having not really heard her.

"I'll go get it."

Ian stood in the middle of the Milkovich living room, suddenly feeling utterly and completely out of place.

That was when it hit him like a punch to the gut.

He and Mickey were over.

Almost two weeks had passed and Mickey hadn't even bothered to get in touch with him, even though Mickey knew all the places where to find him. Mickey was out on a drug run with his father, probably fixing their fucked up relationship.

Lip's words from the other night resonated in his head and he blinked back the threatening onslaught of tears.

Maybe Mickey _hadn't_ cared as much as Ian had thought he did. Maybe he never really did care. Maybe Ian _had_ just been a fuck to him, plain and simple.

"You want to sit on the porch?" Mandy asked as she came back into the room, nitrous in hand. "We can—hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ian said sullenly. "Yeah, I actually forgot I had to help my sister out with something today. Can I take a rain check?"

"Yeah, sure," Mandy said with a small, confused smile.

Ian forced a small smile back.

Just then, Mandy's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. "Can you see yourself out? I'm gonna go get that."

Ian nodded numbly and watched as Mandy turned her back to go answer her phone. He looked towards Mickey's bedroom door and thought about his next move for a few agonizing moments before walking over to it. He reached around his neck hesitantly and pulled the chain over his head. He hung the dog tags around Mickey's door handle and then walked away.

* * *

Later that night, Mickey sluggishly followed his father up the steps to the porch. He was glad the day was over. He hadn't even wanted to go on this drug run to begin with, but his father had appeared looming in his bedroom doorway earlier, simply grunted _'grab a gun, let's go,'_ and Mickey knew better than to argue with the man.

He had simply just gone along for the ride, standing in the background as his dad did all the talking and dirty work to get his money. They didn't say more than a handful of words to each other the whole way there and back, and it had been pure hell.

Once inside the house, his pops grunted a _'night'_ and headed for the kitchen, undoubtedly straight for his beer. Mickey headed for the safety of his bedroom, anxious to get behind closed doors and to the bottle of whiskey he had stashed and waiting for him under his bed.

He reached for the door and hesitated when he spotted something shiny hanging from the doorknob. It took a few seconds for him to realize what it was, and his heart thumped dully in his chest. He slowly pulled the dog tags from around the doorknob and swallowed thickly.

It had been two weeks since he had last seen Ian. Two weeks of hell and torture that took everything in him to stay away. He knew, deep down, that what he was doing was for the best. Ian was better off without him, he was safer without him, and he knew Ian would realize that sooner or later.

Still, seeing the telltale sign that Ian had actually given up, hurt like a bitch.

He slipped inside his room and shut the door behind him before tearing his shirt over his head. He sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling as if he had just gotten punched in the chest.

He reached down under his bed and grabbed his trusty bottle, intending to drown his sorrows for the rest of the night, and to try with everything in him to not think about a certain redhead just blocks down the street but a world away.


	36. About A Boy

Ian desperately needed to get a job.

Not only did he have to get a job to help contribute to the swiftly dwindling winter squirrel fund, but he needed to physically work. Like he actually fucking _needed_ something else to preoccupy his mind, or else he was going to go crazy. School and ROTC training weren't nearly enough to keep his mind off of things—more specifically, off of someone.

He was going insane out of his mind thinking about Mickey, and he knew sitting around in his room staring at the walls and dissecting every last agonizing detail of the past two months would only drag him deeper into his depression.

For one split second, he had actually considered just crawling back to Kash and asking for his old job back. He could easily settle back into that comfortable, safe, simple relationship and have the stability of the job on top of it. He could just go back to the way things were before; back when they were easy and not so fucked up.

But he knew he couldn't do that.

Because as heartbroken and pissed as he was, he didn't want anybody else; especially not Kash.

He would find another job, even if he had to wear a stupid fucking hat and apron and flip burgers, he'd rather do that than fuck Kash again.

He had just gotten out of the shower and was in his room, towel-drying his hair when Lip walked in.

"Hey, you wanna go out to the van and fire one up like old times? I just got some good shit from Kev."

Ian didn't say anything to him, still giving him the same silent treatment he had been giving him for the past four days.

"Still not talking to me, huh?"

"Fuck you."

"Well, I guess that's a start."

Ian tugged on a pair of jeans that he wasn't sure were clean or not, and then picked a wrinkled t-shirt from the pile of dirty laundry and pulled it on, anxious to leave the house and get away.

"Look, Ian, I know you're hurting right now, okay, I get it. But this isn't my fault."

Ian gave Lip a dark look that spoke volumes.

"It's not," Lip reiterated. "You can be as pissed at me all you want, but I was just the middleman in all of this."

"Oh, fuck you," Ian snapped. "Don't act like you're not happy about this. You wrote me and Mickey off the fucking second you found out about us."

"You're damn fucking straight I did," Lip said. "And, yeah, I am happy he ended things, because he's not good for you, Ian. He's trash. One-hundred percent, no good, filthy, South Side trash."

Before Ian could think about what he was doing, he punched Lip square in the jaw with a right hook, probably hurting his hand more than he hurt Lip's face, but it still felt good.

"Fuck, Ian!" Lip recovered quickly and then decked Ian around the waist, slamming his younger brother hard against the dresser, knocking deodorant and other random shit to the floor in the process. "The fuck is wrong with you!"

Ian wrapped his arms around Lip's waist, trying to plant his feet and gain leverage. Both boys struggled to get control, panting and swearing and throwing punches into each other's ribs whenever they could.

"Hey, hey, Jesus! What the hell's going on in here?" Fiona exclaimed, rushing into the room, hobbling in the process with only one heel on.

Lip and Ian pulled apart, their faces flushed and their chests heaving as they glared at each other.

Ian didn't say anything, just stormed roughly past his brother and sister and left the room.

Fiona looked at Lip with wide, questioning eyes. "Fuck just happened?"

Lip ran a hand down his face, still trying to catch his breath. "He's been fucking Mickey Milkovich," he told Fiona, his arms flailing. He knew Ian hadn't shared that bit of information with Fiona yet, but he still said the words, mostly out of spite since he was majorly pissed off.

"Mickey?" Fiona exclaimed. "Mickey Milkovich is the boy Ian's been stressing out over?"

"Yeah," Lip said, sitting down on Ian's bed. "He's fucking bent, Fi. He's losing it."

Fiona sat down next to Lip and they remained silent for a long time, both of them trying to process everything. Finally, Fiona exclaimed again, "Mickey Milkovich, really?!"

* * *

Mickey emerged from his bedroom and found Iggy in the kitchen, struggling with a can opener and a can of Dinty Moore. "Hey, douchebag."

"Fuck's with this thing?" Iggy exclaimed, finally giving up and throwing the can opener unceremoniously at the wall.

Mickey cocked an eyebrow at his brother's bad temper and walked to the fridge, surveying their dwindling beer supply. "Shit, gotta make a beer run."

"Hey, you in for tomorrow?" Iggy called out as Mickey made his way to the door to grab his coat.

"The fuck's going on tomorrow?"

"Another drug run out in Berwyn. Dad needs extra backup," Iggy called out, resorting to clumsily trying to open his can with his swiss army knife. "Heading out early."

Mickey thought about it, knowing he had no good excuse not to go. He didn't work, didn't go to school, didn't have friends. He knew his father would have the final say regardless. Besides, he was going to have to go back to his old life sooner or later. It was just the way it had to be. It was his life; always had been, always would be.

"I'll be there," he found himself saying reluctantly, even though it still didn't feel right. Just as Ian started creeping into his head, he pushed those thoughts back into the deepest recesses of his mind, something he was starting to get good at. Alcohol helped a lot with that though, to be honest.

He put his coat on and headed out the door, intent on getting his beer and getting back home so that he could disappear back into his room again for the rest of the night.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and cursed into the bitter cold wind, thinking to himself that the beer better be fucking worth it for all this.

When he looked up a block later to see Ian heading right towards him, he stopped dead in his tracks, knowing that he was probably going to have to get something a little stronger than beer to trump his misery tonight.

Ian hadn't spotted him yet and, just as Mickey was contemplating diving and hiding behind a parked car like a bitch, Ian decided to finally look up, stopping dead in his own tracks.

Fuck, he looked good, Mickey thought to himself.

They stood facing each other with only a few yards between them.

Ian was the first to break eye contact. He hung his head and continued on towards Mickey, brushing past him to continue on his way.

Without thinking about it, Mickey turned around.

"Ian."

Ian froze and then slowly turned around. When Mickey didn't say anything more, Ian shrugged his shoulders lazily and waited, his face expressionless.

Mickey shuffled a little, suddenly finding it hard to look Ian in the eyes.

"Two weeks go by, I don't hear a fucking word from you, and you have nothing to say?"

Mickey rubbed at his lower lip, still looking at the ground.

"This was what you wanted, wasn't it?" Ian asked finally, his voice unsteady; his eyes wet and blinking against the blistering wind. "To be strangers?"

"Come on, man," Mickey heard himself say, even though he knew he shouldn't be saying anything at all.

"Look, I'm not even mad," Ian said, even though his quivering tone said otherwise. "You tried telling me it was over. I was just too fucking stupid to get it. So, who else do I really got to blame here?"

Mickey just stared back at him, not trusting his own words.

Ian scoffed and shook his head. "I gotta go. I gotta go look for a job, so I can help my family pay the electric bill and help put food on the table. You go home and go back on another drug run with your pops. I'll see you around."

"Christ, Ian, would you quit being so fucking dramatic?" Mickey exclaimed, finally finding his voice. "I didn't want to go with him, alright? He fucking made me go. I didn't have a choice—I never have a fucking choice!"

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Ian said flatly. "We're nothing to each other. You made sure of that."

Mickey only stood there and watched as Ian walked away from him again.

* * *

On his quest for employment, Ian had been intent on hitting up a grocery store or two, maybe that movie theater over on Halsted. He was still bristling with irritation and frustration from his unexpected confrontation with Mickey, though, and decided to skip all that for now.

He had spent the past four days wallowing in self pity, crying himself to sleep, and agonizing over everything to the point of physical and emotional exhaustion.

He really needed to relieve some tension. Instead of making his way to his original destination points, he headed for the nearest L stop, intent on heading straight for Boystown.

* * *

Mickey sauntered out of his bedroom, stumbling slightly and bracing himself against the wall, already halfway to being plastered. As soon as Ian had walked away from him earlier, he had hightailed it to the nearest liquor store, bought a half gallon of their cheapest whiskey, and was halfway finished with it an hour later.

He was well on his way to being numb.

On his way to the kitchen, he stopped when he saw Mandy sitting at the table playing solitaire with one hand as she puffed on a bowl with the other. "Hey, slut hole."

Mandy glanced up at him and sneered. "You look like absolute shit."

"Feel like shit too," Mickey grumbled as he walked to the fridge.

"You can talk to me, you know," she continued apprehensively.

"Don't got shit to talk about."

"Oh, so you just hole yourself up in your room twenty-four-seven, getting piss drunk out of your mind for nothing? Come on, Mickey. I know you. Something's up."

"Even if something was up, fuck makes you think I'd want to talk about it with you?" Mickey shot back.

"Fuck you, asshole. Sorry I give a shit."

Mickey eyed his sister, his resolve softening in spite of himself at the worried look on her face. He was closer to her than any of his other siblings, but that didn't mean he liked sharing shit with her. Still, he felt inclined to do or say something. He made his way over to her and sat down begrudgingly.

He knew she could never know about any of it; about how he had foolishly fallen for and ran away with the kid that his father had forced him to kidnap. Fuck, it sounded like some fucking lame ass storyline on one of those lame ass cable movie channels, like Lifetime or some shit.

"So, what do you wanna talk about?" Mickey asked sharply, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Tell me what's going on with you."

"Nothing's going on."

"Something's going on."

"Maybe I'm just a fucking raging alcoholic, ever think of that?"

"It's more than that, asshole."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Does it have something to do with Ian?"

Mickey's head shot up when her words registered. "What the fuck are you getting at?"

"Come on, Mick. You disappear for three fucking weeks. Then you come home, suddenly Ian Gallagher is always around asking about you, wanting to hang out, coming out of your room crying after you lock your door, being all sneaky and shit. I'm not a complete moron."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Mickey spat, standing up abruptly and heading back towards his room. He never should have left his goddamn room.

"Mickey," Mandy called out.

"Fuck off!" Mickey exclaimed right before he slammed his door.

* * *

Ian stood outside of the Fairy Tale, huddled inside the warmth of his coat, and contemplated on whether or not he wanted to actually go inside. The whole train ride over, it had seemed like the best idea ever. The idea of going inside, dancing and getting lost in the music—maybe even having some guy rub up against him—sounded like exactly what he needed right then to get his mind off of everything.

Still, something stopped him from taking that first step towards the entrance.

Just as he was about to give up and turn to head off, a deep voice stopped him.

"You're hot."

Ian turned around and eyed the man up. The guy was in his thirties—brunette, tall, not exactly unpleasant to look at. "Thanks," he replied sheepishly.

"You heading inside?"

"Uh, no," Ian answered simply. "I was thinking about it, but no."

"Ah, that's too bad. I was hoping you were one of the dancers," the man said with a suggestive smirk as he eyed Ian up slowly. "You definitely would've gotten my paycheck."

Ian watched as the man turned and headed inside after tossing him a crude wink.

Suddenly, an idea popped into Ian's head. It wasn't one of his best ideas ever—was probably actually one of his worst honestly—but, at the moment, it could solve all his fucking problems.

He contemplated it for only a few moments longer before straightening up and finally heading up to the bouncer.

* * *

Later that night, Ian was on the back porch of the Gallagher home, smoking his last cigarette for the night before heading to bed. He heard the screen door squeak open behind him, and then seconds later Debbie plopped down on the step beside him.

"What're you doing out here with no coat on, it's cold out."

"I'm fine," Debbie said with a roll of her eyes, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands. She turned her head and eyed Ian as he stared blankly out across the yard, still puffing on his smoke.

"You seem really sad lately."

Ian looked back at her, surprised by her declaration. "I'm okay, Debs."

"I heard Fiona say something the other night about a boy," Debbie pressed on. "Is there a boy?"

Ian smiled sadly as he flicked his cigarette a few times, contemplating this entire conversation. But his little sister was looking up at him with big, curious eyes, anxious to have a chat with her big brother. He couldn't deny her that.

"Yeah. There _was_ a boy," he said sadly.

"There was a boy? Well, what happened?" she asked, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Long story," Ian replied, knowing that wasn't even the half of it. "It's complicated."

"Why is it complicated? You like him, don't you?"

"Yeah," Ian said sadly, his eyes focused on the ground. "Yeah. . .I do. I like him a lot actually.

"Well, does he like you?"

"I thought maybe he did, but I'm not so sure anymore."

Debbie smiled softly and leaned in eagerly to ask her next question. "Is he cute?"

Ian smiled back, knowing he was going to treasure this conversation with his baby sister long after tonight. "Yeah," he answered. "He's really fucking cute."

"Tell me more about him," Debbie asked with a grin, acting as if she were chatting with a girlfriend instead of her big brother.

Ian laughed a little and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Uh, well, like I said, he's fucking cute as hell. He's shorter than me, so he kinda has to stand on his tip-toes when we kiss. He has these really amazing blue eyes. And he's a bit of a hard ass, but he can be soft too, when he wants to be. He doesn't really laugh all that much, but when he does. . .it's like the best sound ever and his smile lights up his whole face. You gotta work hard to get a smile, but when it happens, it's so worth it."

"Is he a good kisser?" Debbie pressed on anxiously.

"Hell yeah, he is," Ian said with a grin. He wrapped an arm around Debbie's shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

"I hope you get back together," Debbie said thoughtfully. "I'd like to meet him someday. It'd be nice to see you happy."

Ian didn't say anything at first, the small smile slipping from his face. "Me too, Debs," he finally said.


	37. In Da Club

Lip headed towards the bedroom, anxious to take advantage of having the room all to himself for once to get some much-needed reading done, but stopped in his tracks when he caught movement in the bathroom from the corner of his eye. He backtracked a couple of steps and watched as Ian stood in front of the mirror, gelling his hair and sculpting it into a fucking pompadour.

"Where are you going at ten o'clock on a Thursday night?" Lip asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jamb to regard his little brother warily. "Don't you have school in the morning?"

"Don't fucking worry about what I'm doing," Ian said flatly as he checked his reflection.

Lip sighed and shook his head. "How long is it going to be like this with us?"

"When you stop being an asshole, so…never," Ian said, glaring pointedly at his brother in the reflection.

Lip scoffed and rolled his eyes upwards at his brother's juvenile remark. "You _are_ aware that you turned seventeen a few weeks ago, right?"

"Yeah, which is why I don't have to tell you shit about where I'm going," Ian said flatly before brushing past Lip and leaving the bathroom.

"Are you wearing fucking cologne?" Lip asked incredulously as he followed Ian into the bedroom. "Don't tell me you're going out to see Mickey. I thought that shit was over." He watched as Ian froze before quickly recovering.

"I told you, don't fucking worry about where I'm going."

Lip watched as Ian sat on the bed to put on his shoes. "You know I'm just looking out for you, right? You went through something pretty fucking traumatic, Ian, and you haven't been the same since you got back. I know you're dealing with some heavy shit, and you need someone to talk to about it, before it fucks you up in the head and—"

"You know why I haven't been the fucking same, Lip?" Ian spat as he stood up. "Not because I was kidnapped, or held at gunpoint, or because I've been damaged beyond repair. It's because I fucking fell in love with the worst possible person I could have fallen in love with, and I got my heart ripped outta my fucking chest as a result. _That's_ what's fucking wrong with me. Now tell me you still fucking care!"

Lip stood in stunned silence as Ian brushed past him and left the room.

* * *

After finally getting past the burly bouncer (who had hassled him to see a proper ID, but had eventually backed off as soon as Ian said exactly why he was there), he walked into the smoky flashy club, feeling extremely out of place in his jeans and bulky winter coat, considering everyone else seemed to be half-naked or on their way to being naked.

As he walked through the club and towards the small office tucked in the back, he watched as random guys made out heavily in booths and grinded on each other, some of them even throwing suggestive looks Ian's way, silently inviting him to come join them.

Ian swallowed and forced himself to look away, even though a secret part of him was tempted to just get lost in someone else's kisses for the night.

He finally made his way through the sweaty, rowdy crowd to the small office and reluctantly knocked on the door, wondering for the hundredth time if this was such a good idea. Working as a go-go dancer in a gay night club called the Fairy Tail wasn't exactly something he'd ever envisioned himself doing—especially at seventeen—but, right now, it seemed like his only good option.

The money, he knew, would be the biggest benefit. The manager, Marcus, had explained that he could make a couple hundred dollars in one night, at least. Then again, Ian didn't really know how much he could trust his new manager, considering the guy hadn't even asked how old Ian was before hastily making a decision to hire him on the spot before Ian had even finished his pitch.

The other major benefit of it all was the fact that he'd have one more thing to distract his mind from Mickey, and if that meant having a bunch of guys ogling and fawning all over him at the same time, well, Ian guessed maybe that would be considered a benefit as well.

He needed all the distractions he could get.

He knocked and waited for the gruff _'come in'_ before pushing his way into the office.

Marcus was sitting behind the desk, puffing on a cigar. Just as he had the first time Ian entered his office, Marcus looked Ian over from head-to-toe and he smiled appreciatively.

"Jesus, kid. You look that good in street clothes, I can just imagine what you'll look like in our little get up."

Ian shuffled nervously under the lecherous scrutiny—hating the way the guy was looking at him—but he supposed he'd have to get used to it. He had a feeling he would have a lot of creepy, older pervs checking him out and touching him from here on out.

"I don't know if I should have mentioned it before, but, uh…I'm only seventeen," Ian found himself saying before completely thinking it through. Maybe a small part of him was hoping the guy would turn him away and not hire him.

Marcus leaned forward against his desk as smoke billowed from his cigar. "That's just a small technicality, isn't it? No one really needs to know that, now do they?"

Ian swallowed nervously. "No, uh, I guess not."

"So, what's going to happen is this; you'll come in, you'll dance. You'll dance onstage, you'll dance on laps. You'll work the room and never stay in one spot for too long. You get the cash up front for lap dances, and the guys are only allowed to touch you if you let them. We'll have bouncers all over, so if something goes wrong, it'll be taken care of immediately. You're safe here, Curtis."

Ian nodded, thinking none of that sounded too bad. Although, he had heard stories about what happened in the back rooms at clubs like this, but he decided not to ask about that, not wanting to offend the guy. Besides, he had no intentions on doing anything to anyone in any back room.

"Good," Marcus said with a smarmy smile. "Now, let's get you into your costume and see what you got underneath that coat."

* * *

Mickey stood back awkwardly and watched as his father grabbed the poor man roughly by his hair, bending his head back at an awkward, painful angle.

"I want my money by next week, Charlie," Terry said through gritted teeth. He then looked up and eyed Mickey. "Or my boy over there is going to pay you a visit and blow a fucking bullet through your goddamn skull, you got it?"

The man nodded his head vigorously, his eyes wide as he stared back at Mickey in blatant fear.

Mickey shuffled uncomfortably even as he held his gun out and cocked it, knowing that's what his father would want him to do. He had to play the part.

He didn't want to be here. Being here, helping his dad with one of his _jobs_, was the last place he wanted to be. The entire time, all he could picture was Ian's face, all he could hear was Ian's sweet voice telling him that this was wrong, that he was better than this. Each time, he pushed those thoughts away and remained steadfast at the task at hand, not wanting to displease his father.

"Good, I'm glad we have an understanding," Terry said before punching the guy hard in the gut.

The guy doubled over as much as he could in the chair he was tied to, and gasped for air as he groaned miserably in pain.

"Son, get your hit in and let's go," Terry said gruffly as he headed towards the door.

Mickey swallowed hard and knew better than to go against what he was told. He walked to the guy and briefly looked into his pleading eyes. He then stiffened the fuck up and punched the man as hard as he could in the face, breaking his nose in the process.

He didn't turn to see the satisfied smirk on Terry's lips, but he knew it was there all the same.

* * *

When Ian got home that night a little after two AM, he drowsily headed straight for the bathroom to wash off the stink of gross old men that was still lingering on his skin.

His first night at the Fairy Tail had been interesting, to say the least. He felt like he had been pulled in all different directions by the men eager to get some time with the new, hot redheaded twink. He had only been on shift for three hours and had made almost two hundred dollars. He figured the embarrassment and slight disgust he had felt giving lap dances all night had been well worth it in the end. He could get used to it; especially since the squirrel fund was no longer lacking and they'd be able to pay their heat bill for the month.

He quickly showered and then walked into his bedroom, eager to get some sleep considering he had to be up for school in four hours.

Just as he was crawling into bed, Lip spoke. "Where were you?"

Ian sighed into the darkness. "Out."

"Where the fuck is _out_ ?"

"Since when are you my goddamn keeper?"

Lip was quiet for a while before saying, "I'm just worried about you, Ian. We all are."

"Well, don't be," Ian said stubbornly, before turning on his side and pulling the blankets up to his chin. "Now go the fuck to sleep, Jesus."

* * *

Ian was four nights into his new job, and he was finding that he was no longer embarrassed while giving lap dances. He was quickly learning to just go with it, to close his eyes and think about something else. Two minutes of dancing on someone's lap for twenty-five bucks a pop? He couldn't really complain.

The man whose lap he was straddling now was well into his fifties and he was fucking handsy as all hell. Even though Ian warned him at least twice not to touch, the man's hands somehow seemed to keep finding their way onto Ian's bare thighs. Ian rolled his eyes but kept going along with it, figuring the man only had about thirty seconds left, might as well give the old geezer a little bit of an extra thrill.

"What are you doing after your shift?" the man asked, his eyes taking Ian in, looking as if he wanted to eat him.

"Sorry, I don't go home with people," Ian said as he continued grinding.

"Anything I can do to get you to make an exception?"

"Nope."

"What about for a little extra cash?"

"I'm not a fucking slut," Ian snapped before climbing off the guy's lap. "Time's up." Before the man could protest, Ian turned and walked away, smarting with irritation. As he was walking, he felt a hand on his arm and he looked to find a man in his thirties standing before him.

"Can I snatch you up?"

"Twenty-five dollars gets you a dance," Ian said, thinking that this guy was a nice change of pace. He actually seemed normal; he also wasn't bad to look at.

The man nodded his head towards an empty booth and Ian followed him.

After the man tucked the money in the waistline of Ian's short shorts, Ian straddled the guy and began grinding against him.

"Party favor?" the man asked, holding a small, white pill up over Ian's head.

Ian stared up at the pill, knowing—without a doubt—that he should say no. He had never fucked with drugs before outside of marijuana, and he had never intended on fucking with drugs before. Still, for some reason he couldn't really comprehend, he found himself opening his mouth like a baby bird and accepting the pill.

The man grinned and then placed his hands on Ian's hips and sat back to enjoy the show.

* * *

For the fourth night in a row, Lip waited up for Ian. For the fourth night in a row, Ian didn't come home until after two in the morning, disappearing into the bathroom to shower and then passing straight out once his head hit his pillow.

Lip didn't know what the fuck was going on with his brother, but he knew it was nothing good.

* * *

The next morning, Lip eyed Ian warily over the kitchen table as they ate their pancakes. He took in Ian's pale face and the dark bags under his eyes and the fact that his brother looked like absolute total shit. He also hadn't said one word since sitting down, even though everyone else chatted animatedly around him.

Fiona placed another plateful of pancakes on the table, sneaking a worried look in Ian's direction before glancing at Lip, who could only shrug helplessly and shake his head. "So, uh, Ian…how're things?"

"Fine," Ian said dully as he chewed on his pancakes.

"How's school going?" she pressed.

"Good."

"You getting caught up on your schoolwork?"

"Yep."

"And ROTC? How's that going?"

"Going fine."

"Did you—"

"Fuck! What the fuck's with the third degree all of a sudden?" Ian snapped, slapping his hand down on the table, startling his siblings into stunned silence. He sighed and then scraped his chair backwards before standing up. "I wish everyone would get the fuck off my back, Jesus." He stalked over to the door, grabbed his coat and was out the door before anyone could protest.

"The fuck is wrong with him?" Fiona asked with wide eyes.

"He's going mental," Carl piped in.

"Shut up, idiot, no he's not," Debbie said, kicking at Carl's shin under the table.

"I don't fucking know what's going on with him," Lip said, "but we need to find out where the fuck he's been going the past four nights." As everyone slowly went back to their routine, Lip's eyes dropped to the table, knowing and hating the fact that—right now—there was probably only one person who'd be able to get through to Ian.

* * *

Mickey was standing on his porch, idly staring off in the distance as he brought the whiskey bottle up to his lips to take a sip. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head to see Lip Gallagher standing on the sidewalk, his hands shoved in his pockets and his expression grim. "Well, if it isn't Phillip fucking Gallagher," he said snidely. "The fuck're you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you about Ian."

Mickey looked away, refusing to allow Lip to see that he had any reaction to hearing Ian's name, even though his heart quickened in his chest. "I thought we already had this conversation, Phillip."

"I think he's in trouble," Lip said, sounding perturbed at Mickey's sour attitude. "Something's going on with him.

Mickey took in Lip's words and waited to answer, making sure his tone was steady. "And that's my fucking problem, how?"

"You're a fucking asshole. I should have known you'd be useless. I don't know why I even fucking bothered," Lip spat, shaking his head and then turning to walk away.

Before Mickey could even think about what he was doing, he called out, "what kinda trouble?"

Lip stopped and then turned back around. He slowly shrugged. "I don't know. We were kinda hoping you would."

"I haven't fucking talked to the guy," Mickey retorted. "How the fuck am I supposed to know what's going on with him?"

"Fuck," Lip muttered, looking off into the distance.

"What's he been doing?" Mickey asked, trying not to sound too eager to know what was wrong.

"He's been staying out until two, three o'clock in the morning. He's been moody as all hell, tired as hell, he won't talk to anyone. I think he might be on something," Lip explained, his voice wavering slightly. "Look, man, I know it's a lot to ask, but could you maybe just fucking try to talk to him? For some reason, I think you might be the only person he'd fucking talk to right about now." He waited a beat before saying, "I wouldn't come to you if I thought I had any other choice."

"Yeah, I don't think he'll talk to me," Mickey said, staring down at his boots, his mind still trying to wrap around the fact that Ian was staying out until the middle of the night. He didn't even want to think about what that meant. The very thought of Ian fucking around made his stomach sick.

"Just try, okay?" Lip said. "If he means anything to you at all, just try. Make sure he's alright and not doing anything stupid, yeah?"

"I'm not fucking promising you anything," Mickey said bitterly, bringing his bottle back to his lips, essentially ending the conversation.

Lip simply nodded and then turned to walk away, not noticing the way Mickey's shoulders slumped once he was alone.

* * *

Ian was making his way across the school grounds towards the football field for ROTC training. All day, he had been dragging himself between periods and forcing himself to stay awake through class. He had contemplated skipping ROTC altogether, but had decided against it in the end. He didn't want to have to admit to himself that it was all becoming too much to handle.

He looked up and stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Mickey casually leaning against a tree up ahead, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips and his eyes squinting against the sun.

Ian stiffened his jaw and hung his head as he trudged forward, intent on walking right past Mickey without a word.

"Aye!" Mickey called out as he quickly followed after him.

"Leave me alone, Mickey," Ian snapped. "I don't have time for your bullshit right now."

Mickey grabbed Ian's arm. "Aye, man, talk to me for a second." Before he knew what was happening, Ian spun around and pushed him roughly against a nearby fence, knocking the wind out of him.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Mickey stared back at Ian, completely dumbfounded. He shook himself from his shock and then pushed Ian back just as hard. "Fuck you!"

Ian scoffed as he balanced himself, and then shook his head before snatching his fallen backpack from the ground and continuing on his way.

"Ian, what the fuck!" Mickey called from behind. "What the hell's your problem, man?"

Ian turned around and glared at him with fake amusement. "You fucking kidding me right now? You're asking me what my goddamn problem is? You ignore me for days, then tell my brother you don't give a shit about me—"

"You know shit's complicated, Ian. I didn't ask for this any more than you did! You know why I did what I did!"

Ian just shook his head and looked down at his boots, refusing to look Mickey in the face.

"Christ, look at you. You look like shit, man," Mickey said softly after a tense pause.

"Is that all you wanted to say?"

"No, smart ass, that's not all," Mickey snapped. "Look, everyone is worried about you. Lip said you've been staying out all hours of the night, says you're tired all the time—"

"Lip's a fucking asshole who doesn't know shit, and he had no right going to you about anything."

"Would you just tell me what the fuck you've been up to?"

"It's none of your goddamned business. It's not anyone's business what the fuck I do, Jesus fucking Christ!" Ian snapped.

Mickey reached up and thumbed at the tip of his nose, trying to calm his nerves and reason with Ian. "Look," he continued calmly. "Everyone is just…they're worried, alright? Fuck, Ian, I'm worried about—"

"Are we about done here?" Ian interrupted. "I have to go or they're gonna make me do twenty laps if I'm late."

"Just tell me what the fuck—"

"I've been working at the Fairy Tail in Boystown, alright?!" Ian blurted, spreading his arms wide open. "You fucking happy now? I've been dancing half-naked on guys laps, grinding on cocks for money! _That's_ what I've been doing."

Mickey suddenly felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, and he looked like it too. "What the _fuck,_ Ian," he finally said, though his tone was more hurt than angry.

Ian's resolve seemed to soften when he realized Mickey was hurt. He then toughened up in the next instant, refusing to let Mickey know he was broken. "I have to go. I really don't feel like running fucking laps."

Mickey just stood there, having no other choice but to watch him go.

* * *

Mickey walked into the Fairy Tail later that night and instantly felt completely and utterly out of place. He hung his head and avoided making eye contact with anyone. In his periphery, he could see guys blatantly making out and grinding on each other, and he did all he could to not flat out gawk.

Once he made it to the main floor, he took a chance and lifted his head, trying to spot Ian amongst the crowd of gyrating bodies. He looked around, his eyes scanning over the mass of people and then, finally, spotted Ian through a break in the crowd.

There Ian was, dressed only in a pair of black booty shorts, grinding on some fucking dude's lap like it was second nature to him. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat as he watched; bristling with jealousy, hurt and anger. He then watched with a sick stomach as Ian opened his mouth and accepted a pill that the stranger offered him, and that was enough to set Mickey into motion. He tore his way through the crowd until he was standing next to the pair.

"Alright, lovebirds, time's up," Mickey spat. When neither moved, he yelled. "Time's fucking up, it's my turn!"

Ian quickly shuffled off the guy's lap and stared at Mickey dumbly.

"I'll see you later, Curtis," the man drawled.

"Get outta here, grandpa. You ain't seeing no one later!" Mickey yelled and then looked at Ian with arched eyebrows. "Curtis? You going with that again? Christ, Ian!"

"Twenty-five dollars gets you a dance," Ian said, looking perturbed.

"Excuse me?" Mickey snapped, his brows arching.

"Don't wanna dance, gotta move on."

"Christ, Ian. What're you doing? Look at you. You're fucking tweaking."

"Sorry," Ian said, turning to walk away. "Lost your chance."

"Aye, Ian!" Mickey exclaimed, grabbing Ian roughly by the arm and spinning him around. "Would you wait a fucking minute, I need to talk to you! Can we go outside?"

Ian stood facing Mickey, his eyes downcast and his body trembling.

"Please," Mickey said, his voice soft and his eyes searching Ian's face as he loosened the grip on his arm. "I just wanna talk."

Ian finally lifted his glistening eyes to Mickey's, the tension finally leaving his body.

"Is there a problem here?" a bouncer asked from beside them, glaring pointedly at Mickey.

Mickey watched Ian, waiting for his response with arched eyebrows.

"No, Roger," Ian finally mumbled. "There's no problem."

"Maybe wrap this up. There's a guy over there who looks like he wants a dance," Roger said gruffly.

"Okay. Alright. Thank you," Mickey spat irritably. "He's had enough gray pubes for one night."

Roger shot Mickey another warning look before stalking off.

"Ian," Mickey said, stepping forward and placing a hand gingerly on Ian's cheek. "Will you come with me?"

Ian numbly nodded his head and allowed Mickey to lead him towards the back of the club by the restrooms, where the music wasn't so deafening.

Mickey looked Ian over, taking in what he was wearing and the grim expression on his face and the obvious fact that he was tweaking. He was suddenly overcome with emotion and he ran a hand down his face. "Christ, Ian," he murmured. "I fucking did this to you, didn't I?" He grabbed Ian by the back of the neck and pressed their foreheads together. "What the fuck're you doing here?" he mumbled.

Ian closed his eyes and pressed into him, letting out a watery sigh.

Mickey engulfed Ian's face in his hands and tilted his head up so that their eyes met. "I'm sorry," he said as they locked eyes. "You hear me? I'm sorry."

Ian reached up and encircled his fingers around Mickey's wrists.

Mickey pressed a soft lingering kiss to Ian's forehead. "I'm sorry." He then moved his lips and leaned in to kiss Ian gently. "We'll figure something out, alright? We'll figure it out. You don't have to do this shit anymore."

Ian nodded again and then allowed Mickey to lead him out of the club.

His nights dancing at the Fairy Tail were over.


	38. One Fine Day

Mickey pulled the Milkovich beater to a stop in front of the Gallagher home and cut the engine. He snuck a sideways glance at Ian, who was slumped and sleeping against the passenger side door. Ian hadn't said one word to him on the way home from the Fairy Tail, and had passed out sometime along the way.

He sighed, ran a hand over his face, and rubbed his chin before reaching over to lightly shake at Ian's shoulder. "Aye, Gallagher," he said gruffly. "Time to wake up."

Ian muttered unintelligibly, but didn't lift his head from the cold window.

"Ian," Mickey said, softer this time, reaching his hand up and softly rubbing the knuckle of his finger against Ian's smooth cheek. "Come on, man, I gotta get you in the house. It's cold out here and it's late."

"Can't walk," Ian finally grumbled almost inaudibly.

"Yes, you most certainly _can_ fucking walk. It's called use your legs," Mickey said, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Nope. Can't."

Mickey rested his head back against the headrest of his seat and shot his eyes heavenward. "Am I going to have to carry your gangly, tweaked-out ass into the goddamn house?"

"Guess so," came the soft, muffled reply.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Mickey grumbled as he undid his seatbelt and got out of the car. He instantly slipped and almost fell on his ass, since it had snowed earlier and there was now sludge everywhere; which was going to make this task even more fucked up and impossible. Still, he found himself at the other side of the car, opening Ian's door.

Since Ian had been leaning heavily against the door, he almost tumbled out onto the sidewalk when the door opened, but Mickey quickly caught him and held him upright.

"You trying to kill me here, Ian?" Mickey huffed as he struggled and somehow managed to get Ian out of the car in one piece. When he realized Ian was only going to give him trouble and wasn't even going to attempt to even try to walk on his own, he hooked one of Ian's arms around his neck, bent over and then hoisted the tall redhead over his shoulder.

He knew showing up at the Gallagher house like this—with Ian high on who-the-fuck-knows-what and hanging over his shoulder like a goddamn rag doll—was only going to raise questions; but he had to do what he had to do, since Ian was being a stubborn little shit as always.

After some careful maneuvering, Mickey made his way up the porch steps and knocked on the door, all the while grumbling obscenities under his breath.

"Where are we?" Ian groused somewhere behind Mickey's back.

"Well…I'm in hell right now, but you're at home," Mickey said grumpily.

"I like your butt," Ian mumbled in his inebriated state, patting the butt that was in his face.

Mickey didn't really know what to say to that, so he just hoisted Ian higher on his shoulder and gnawed on his lower lip.

The door finally opened and suddenly Mickey was face to face with someone he could only assume was Ian's older sister Fiona.

"Uh," Mickey began, feeling awkward under her perplexed scrutiny as she looked between Mickey's face and her brother's ass with wide, questioning eyes. "I think this tall ginger idiot belongs to you?"

"Ian, what the fuck?" Fiona muttered under her breath. "What the fuck happened? Where was he?"

"He's been dancing at some fucking club over in Boystown," Mickey explained as Fiona ushered him in from the cold. "I went there tonight to talk to him, found him dancing on some sleazeball's lap, tweaking like a little bitch."

"Oh, Jesus," Fiona said, running a hand over her face. "Well, okay, I guess I'll have to deal with him in the morning," she continued. "His room is upstairs…make a right, it's at the end of the hall."

Mickey nodded curtly and then began the daunting task of getting Ian's dead weight ass up the stairs. After taking much more time than Mickey would have liked—and after nearly stumbling backwards a few times and killing both Ian and himself—he finally made it into the bedroom and assumed the empty bed by the window was Ian's.

He shot a look over towards the crib, where a small child was standing up and watching him with wide, questioning eyes. Mickey wanted to ask the kid what the fuck he was looking at, but refrained since, you know, he was just a kid.

Mickey bent over and allowed Ian to fall carefully onto the mattress. He stared down at the sleeping redhead for a long moment, his heart tightening in his chest. Without thinking much about it, he removed Ian's shoes, swung his legs up onto the bed, and made sure the pillow was tucked just right under his head. He then turned to leave, but was stopped by a small, broken voice.

"Don't."

Mickey froze just as he was about to walk out the door, and then turned around to find Ian now looking at him, the dim light from the hallway illuminating his pleading face and hooded eyes. He snuck a quick glance towards the bunk bed in the room; finding two snoring lumps beneath covers.

When he looked back at Ian, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He was torn between doing what he knew he should do—which was to get the fuck out of there without complicating things even more—or to hop right on in that bed with Ian and say fuck everyone and everything else.

"Don't go."

"I can't stay here," Mickey muttered back miserably.

"My family knows about us," Ian continued, his voice unsteady.

Mickey thumbed at his lower lip, knowing he should be upset at the fact that Ian's family knew his deep, dark secret, but—for some reason—he wasn't. How could he be mad at Ian when he was looking at him like that? How could he leave when Ian looked like that?

"Yeah, okay," he finally said as he walked back over to Ian's bed. He toed off his shoes and then watched as Ian lifted his butt to pull the covers out from under him.

Both boys slipped under the blankets, facing each other.

Ian pulled the blanket up and around them and then pressed his face against Mickey's chest, inhaling him. "Missed you, Mickey," he whispered.

Mickey dug his fingers in Ian's hair and kneaded his scalp lightly before dropping his hand and wrapping an arm around him. He propped his chin atop Ian's head and lazily rubbed his hand over his back, relishing in the feeling of having Ian in his arms again.

"Missed ya," he whispered back huskily, his lips pressed to Ian's forehead as they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Mickey snuggled closer into the unknown warmth and sighed dreamily, not wanting to open his eyes or move from where he was. He felt soft, warm kisses sprinkling across his cheeks, chin and nose. Finally, he slowly blinked his eyes open and his breath caught in his throat.

"You're really here," Ian said softly before brushing a kiss against his forehead.

"Yeah, I'm here," Mickey grumbled, once everything came flooding back in his mind, "and I'm pissed the fuck off at you."

Ian leaned in and buried his face against Mickey's chest, looking impossibly fucking adorable in the moment with bleary eyes and messy bed head.

"Don't think you're going to fucking cute your way out of this, asshole." Mickey reached up and dug his fingers in Ian's hair. "What the fuck were you thinking, Ian? The fucking _Fairy Tail_ ? Shaking your ass for money? Really?"

Ian lifted his head and sighed. "I know, it was a stupid fucking idea, alright."

"You fucking think?!"

"But I just needed to do something, you know? I needed to take my mind off shit."

"And grinding on old man balls and doing drugs? That was your way of taking your mind off shit?"

Ian just let out a puff of air, not really knowing what to say to that.

After looking to find that the bunk bed was empty and hearing the muffled voices drifting up from the kitchen, Mickey bravely reached up and stroked his thumb along Ian's jaw line, unable to stop touching him for some reason. After a short pause, he said, "I was sick to my fucking stomach last night when I saw you dancing on that guy," he grumbled, his voice raspy, not daring to look in Ian's eyes. "I fucking hated it. Hated seeing that guy's fucking hands all over you."

Ian watched him for a few heartbeats before dipping his head and kissing Mickey softly on the mouth. "You're the only one I want, Mickey," he said as he then moved to straddle Mickey. "Don't you know that by now? Anyone else would have left your crazy, indecisive ass a long time ago." He pinned Mickey's hands to the bed and then leaned down to kiss him again, this time with more heat and intent.

When they broke apart, Mickey said, "Indecisive, huh? I'm here now, ain't I?"

"For now," Ian said softly, his eyes dropping to Mickey's lips.

"I ain't going anywhere."

Ian smiled softly down at him and then swooped in for another kiss. "I want you," he mumbled against Mickey's lips as he slowly began grinding against him, their hands still pinned to the mattress.

Mickey licked into Ian's mouth and then they both smiled into the kiss, both of them feeling more happy and relaxed in that moment than they had in weeks. "You want me, huh?"

"So fucking bad," Ian said before gasping as the kiss grew hungry and needy.

Mickey arched up against Ian and grabbed his ass, showing the other boy just how much he wanted him too.

Ian finally pulled back and smiled gently at Mickey before he casually slid down the length of Mickey's body and disappeared under the blankets with a playful glint in his eyes.

"Ian," Mickey chastised throatily, knowing they had way more to talk about, but he suddenly found himself unable to get the words out as Ian began undoing his pants while hidden beneath the covers.

Once Ian had his cock out and was stroking it, Mickey choked back a moan and glanced apprehensively towards the open door and then over at the sleeping toddler in the crib. He looked back down at the covered, bobbing head. "What if someone walks in? We…we can't."

Ian moaned an answer around his cock and kept going.

Mickey soon found his inhibitions slipping away as Ian continued sucking his dick. He arched his back and snuck his hands under the blankets to lightly fist at Ian's hair. "Feels so fucking good. Fucking amazing mouth."

Ian answered by releasing Mickey's cock with a soft _'pop'_ of his lips and then blowing on the sensitive head before sucking him back down as far as he could and deep-throating him.

"So good, Ian. So fucking good," Mickey groaned throatily, grabbing Ian's hair with both hands and guiding him. He fucked up into Ian's mouth, already close. "Mm, fuck, just like that. Keep doing that. Fuck. Yeah."

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!"

The head bobbing under the blankets suddenly stilled and Mickey lifted his head from the pillow to stare in shock at Lip, who was now standing in the doorway, a look of pure and utter disgust on his face.

"Don't you know how to fucking knock, Jesus!" Mickey roared.

"Knock? The door was fucking wide open!" Lip roared right back. "And fuck no, I don't gotta knock! This is my fucking room!"

Ian suddenly popped out from under the blankets, purposely fixing his brother with a pointed glare and wiping at the corner of his mouth. "Well, it's my room too, so if I want to blow someone in _my_ room I should be able to. Get the fuck out so I can finish him off!"

"What the fuck, Ian!" Lip exclaimed before finally turning and slamming the door shut behind him.

Ian and Mickey glanced at each other before they burst out laughing.

"I love fucking with him," Ian said with a grin.

"Well, if he didn't know before, he definitely knows now," Mickey grumbled, knowing that Lip was just one more person he'd have to worry about who had something to hold over his head now.

Suddenly, the toddler's head popped up over the side of the crib.

Mickey stared back at the kid disdainfully, and then rested his head back on the pillow with a groan before rubbing a hand over his face.

"Well, I guess we'll have to wait to finish this some other—" Before he could get the rest of his sentence out, Ian was already back under the blankets, swallowing Mickey down despite their audience. "—or we can keep going, that's cool too," he choked out.

* * *

A little while later, Ian and Mickey finally let their grumbling stomachs and the luring smell of bacon get the best of them, and they made their way down to the kitchen, Ian leading the way and Mickey following hesitantly behind him, not looking forward to dealing with a fucking gaggle of Gallaghers this early in the morning.

Four heads shot up and watched as the pair stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs.

"'Morning," Fiona finally said, sounding unsure as she looked back and forth between the two of them.

Lip just kept stabbing at his eggs, his face expressionless and his posture stiff.

Ian and Mickey sat down in the two empty chairs at the table as the air continued to thicken with tension.

Carl decided to make shit even more awkward by saying, "are you two boyfriends?"

"Carl," Fiona reprimanded.

"What?" Carl asked with a shrug. "He was sleeping in Ian's bed."

"Is this the boy you like, Ian?" Debs asked. "The boy you were telling me about?"

Ian reached with his fork for a pancake and smiled gently. "Yeah, it is, Debs. This is Mickey."

Suddenly, Lip roughly scraped his chair back and left the room without a word, leaving everyone to stare after him.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Carl asked.

"Just…eat your breakfast," Fiona answered before looking back at Ian and Mickey wearily.

Mickey just sat frozen in his chair; not knowing what to do, what to say, or how to act. Knowing that Ian's family knew his deep, dark secret was unsettling to say the fucking least.

"Did you guys fuck?" Carl asked, which earned him a slap on the back of the head from Fiona.

"Alright, Debs, Carl…go upstairs and get ready for school."

Debbie and Carl collectively rolled their eyes and then made their way upstairs, leaving Ian and Mickey alone with Fiona.

Fiona focused her attention on Ian. "Are you okay?"

Ian averted his eyes to the table and nodded his head. "Yeah."

"So, you were working at a strip club? How does that even work? You're seventeen, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah…found a way around that."

Fiona sighed and then averted her eyes to Mickey, who was watching Ian. If she didn't know any better, she would say that this kid actually seemed smitten with her brother. Still, she had her doubts and she didn't like any of this at all. "Well, I have to get to work. We'll talk about this more later. Will you please make sure Debbie and Carl leave for school on time?"

"Got it."

Once Debbie and Carl were out the door a little while later and on their way to school, Ian turned around to find Mickey leaning against the archway into the kitchen, his eyes trailing lasciviously down Ian's body.

"So, are you going to school today?"

"I don't know, why?" Ian asked with a smirk as he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall. "Got a better idea of how I should spend my day?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, eyeing the telltale bulge in Ian's sweatpants. "You can start by getting the fuck on me," he finished as he strode over to Ian, gripped him by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a demanding, hungry kiss.

Ian pulled away shortly after with swollen lips, keeping their foreheads pressed together as he began fumbling with Mickey's zipper. "We have the place completely to ourselves for a few hours," he rasped as he slid his hand inside Mickey's jeans to stroke him. "I can fuck you right here on the couch."

"No, not here. Someone can walk in," Mickey husked back as he gripped Ian's shoulders and then slid his hands up to grip around his neck. "Let's go up to your room."

Ian leaned in and pressed his mouth to Mickey's ear, feeling Mickey shudder beneath his fingers. "I want to fuck you right here," he husked. "Bend you right over the couch and fuck that amazing ass."

"Jesus," Mickey whispered when Ian slipped his hands under his shirt, feathering his cold fingers over Mickey's warm back. "You really want to fuck here?" he mumbled when Ian began gently nibbling on his neck. He reached up and dug his fingers into red hair. "You want to fuck me on the couch, where anyway can walk in and see us?" he asked, practically stuttering now against Ian's ear.

"No one will see us; everyone's at school, Fiona's at work. It's just you and me," Ian grumbled against Mickey's skin as he slid his hands from Mickey's back down into his pants and beneath his boxers, kneading that perfect ass and pulling Mickey even tighter against him.

Mickey began thrusting against Ian as he continued nipping, licking and sucking at his neck. "Fuck, Ian," he panted, feeling himself starting to give in.

Their breathing became more erratic as Ian slid a leg in-between Mickey's, giving Mickey something to grind against. In no time, both of them were gasping and shaking with desire and want for each other.

"Get these fucking pants off," Ian ordered huskily as he stepped away and began undressing, unable to hold off any longer.

Both boys undressed as quickly as they could, both ready for this. It had been way too fucking long.

"Com'ere," Ian husked, taking Mickey's hand and leading him around to the front of the couch. "Kneel on the couch."

Mickey bit his lower lip and did as he was told, his eyes inadvertently glancing towards the front door. Sure, he was nervous about someone walking in, but the thrill of getting caught was also fucking hot, he couldn't deny that.

All rational train of thought was lost when he felt large hands kneading his ass. "Shit," he murmured and then he moaned when Ian blew softly against his asshole. He never knew he could like someone playing with his ass so much.

"I wanna taste you," Ian said as he got down on the floor on his knees. He kneaded Mickey's ass and then gave it a hard slap, causing Mickey to inhale sharply. Ian smiled to himself before leaning in and licking up the inside of Mickey's thigh. He bit his left ass cheek playfully, eliciting a moan from the other man. He then licked his way up the other inner thigh and lightly tongued at Mickey's balls, then over his perineum, and then finally dipped his tongue against the puckered hole, causing Mickey to buck backwards.

"Oh, shit," Mickey gasped out as he pressed his face against his crossed arms over the back of the couch as Ian tongue-fucked him slowly.

Ian continued to lap and lick at him as he reached down and stroked his own leaking cock, knowing he wasn't going to be able to stall much longer. He pulled back to spit at the puckered rim twice before moving back in to lick him open.

Mickey was panting and gasping as he pressed back against Ian's face, reaching a hand back to grab roughly onto red hair as he nearly suffocated Ian with his ass.

Ian gripped Mickey's hips, holding him still as he nuzzled his face in his ass. He circled his tongue teasingly around the tight ring of muscle before dipping his tongue inside. He eased his tongue in and out, causing Mickey to practically mewl and purr above him.

"Fuck, Ian. Jesus Christ, so fucking good. Fuck me with that tongue."

Ian moaned, loving the way Mickey was reacting to him. He pulled away suddenly, earning a whimper from Mickey in the process, and then stood up, still stroking his cock and wanting to get in that ass already.

"Wait," Mickey said breathlessly as he turned around and slid down to sit on the cushions in front of him. With his eyes locked lustfully on Ian's, he gripped Ian's cock with his hand and leaned forward to touch the tip of his tongue to the leaking slit as he slowly stroked him. "Mm."

Ian just stared down at him, his eyes dark with desire. He reached his hands up and lightly feathered his fingers along Mickey's cheeks and then ran his fingers through his hair.

With their eyes still locked, Mickey swallowed Ian down as far as he could take him, using his hand to make up for the rest.

As Mickey sucked his dick, Ian stroked his face and ran his fingers through his hair and murmured his praises. "You love how I taste? You love sucking my cock? You're so good at it, Mickey. Fuck, I missed you."

Mickey moaned around his cock at the praise and continued to watch Ian, loving the way he was responding to him. He pulled away and teased the slit of Ian's cock with a few teasing flicks of his tongue, his hooded eyes never once leaving Ian's.

"You're so fucking hot, Mickey," Ian gasped and then he grabbed Mickey by the arm and tugged him up. The kiss was hungry and demanding and sloppy as their tongues tangled through the taste of Ian's pre-come. "I wanna fuck you so bad," he murmured when they finally broke apart, gasping for air.

"So, fuck me then," Mickey rasped, completely riled up.

"You're going to kill me," Ian said breathlessly, "but the lube and condoms are upstairs."

"So get fucking moving then!"

"Mm, anxious for my cock, huh? Such a bossy little bottom…"

"Ian!" Mickey spat and then watched as Ian darted up the steps two at a time. In the meantime, Mickey got back on his knees on the couch and braced himself for Ian's cock. As he waited, he reached down and stroked his cock, knowing it wasn't going to take long for him to come once he had Ian's dick in him.

Ian returned and positioned himself behind Mickey. After rolling the condom on, he squirted lube on his fingers and coated two fingers evenly before positioning them at Mickey's asshole. He grabbed Mickey's shoulder with one hand while the fingers of his free hand slid inside Mickey, stretching him. "So tight, Mick. So damn perfect."

Mickey bit down on his lip and pushed back against Ian's hand. He then gasped when Ian's fingers crooked and found that tight bundle of nerves buried inside him. "Alright, alright, let's go. I'm ready," he said impatiently. He then moaned when he felt the tip of Ian's cock breach him and then slowly ease into him until Ian was buried to the hilt. "Fuck, I missed you," he gasped as he wiggled to adjust..

"Missed me or missed my dick?" Ian said teasingly, breathlessly, as he started his pace, making long, deep thrusts. He watched as Mickey's ass took his cock and he threw his head back and moaned.

"Fuck…both," Mickey gasped out.

Ian leaned forward over Mickey and rested his hands on Mickey's hands that were gripping the back of the couch. He slotted his fingers with Mickey's and angled his head to place soft kisses against the back of Mickey's neck. "I love you," he whispered against his damp skin.

Mickey grunted and bent his forehead against the couch, wanting to say the words back, but not like this. Not while doing this.

Ian continued his thrusting, as if he hadn't expected Mickey to say anything back anyway.

They made love on the Gallagher couch and then came together quicker than either of them may have wanted to. Afterwards, they lied tangled together under the blanket that Ian had pulled down from the back of the couch to cover them with.

"That was fucking amazing," Mickey said breathlessly.

"What made it even better is you came all over the spot where Lip usually sits," Ian said and then grinned when Mickey buried his face in his neck and genuinely laughed.

They pressed kisses to each other's foreheads and cheeks, and then soon fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

Upon waking up a little while later, Mickey realized he was out of cigarettes and that was just something he couldn't deal with. They got dressed and left the Gallagher home in search of some smokes.

As they walked down the street in public, they made sure to keep some distance between each other, even though that didn't stop them from stealing sidelong flirty glances and playful smirks at each other.

As they were walking, Ian laughed at something Mickey said and then looked up and stopped in his tracks when he saw Linda standing outside of the Kash and Grab, sweeping the sidewalk in front of the store. "Fuck," he muttered, not wanting to see Linda or especially Kash.

Unfortunately, before they could turn and head back in the opposite direction, they were spotted.

"Ian?" Linda asked, reaching a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. "Where the hell have you been, kid?"

"Hey, Linda," Ian drawled. "I've been around."

"You just up and disappeared," Linda continued.

"Yeah, I know," Ian said, shoving his hands into his pockets and sneaking a look at Mickey, whose eyes were downcast. "I had some stuff I had to deal with."

"So, I'm guessing you didn't hear about my piece of shit husband?" Linda continued bleakly. "I got an anonymous phone call a couple weeks back, telling me that my husband has been fucking under-aged boys behind my back."

Ian went stock-still, not knowing how to process this piece of information. He then snuck a look over at Mickey when realization set in.

Mickey was obviously avoiding his eyes at all costs as he looked down and picked at his thumb.

"I didn't know what to believe, so I confronted him about it. He denied it of course, but the fact that he packed up and disappeared in the middle of the night kind of said otherwise," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. She then sighed. "I'm better off anyways."

"I'm sorry, Linda," Ian said lamely, hoping his guiltiness wasn't too obvious.

"Well, if you ever want your job back, let me know. The new kid we have now is one fry short of a happy meal."

"Yeah," Ian said dejectedly. "Maybe I will."

Linda gave him a small, resigned smile before heading back into the store.

Ian slowly turned and looked at Mickey, watching as he finally lifted his eyes.

"The fuck you looking at?"

"It was you, wasn't it? You called Linda and told her about Kash?"

Mickey thumbed at his lower lip. "Yeah, well, towelhead fucking with you meant he fucked with me, so he had to pay."

Ian just stared at him incredulously for a few heartbeats before shaking his head and laughing. "You're such an asshole, you know that." His voice then dropped a half an octave and he swallowed as his eyes appreciatively slid down the length of Mickey's body. "Can we go get you some smokes now, so we can get back to my place and I can fuck you again?"

Mickey's face broke into a slow grin and then he let out a surprised puff of laughter when Ian grabbed him by the front of his coat and tugged him along.

* * *

Later that evening, Mickey sat around the Gallagher kitchen table, feeling very-much-so like he didn't belong, He had wanted to leave, feeling as if he were intruding, but Ian had convinced him to stay. The only thing that was keeping him grounded and stopping him from fleeing straight out the door was Ian's leg pressed up against his under the table.

"Everyone hungry?" Fiona asked cheerfully from in front of the stove as she stirred the pasta. Debbie was helping her prepare dinner, and Carl was busy sitting before Liam, pulling faces and making noises to get the kid to laugh.

Just then, the back door opened and Lip walked in, bringing a blast of cold air in with him. "Dinner smells good, I'm famished," he said before his eyes fell on Mickey. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he exclaimed before looking at Fiona. "He's staying for dinner now? Am I the only one who sees how fucked up this is?"

"Lip," Fiona sighed.

"Fuck you," Ian spat.

Lip shot Ian and Mickey the darkest look he could muster before disappearing upstairs.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Fiona said, turning away from the stove. She then stood awkwardly and wiped her hands on her apron. "He's still a little weirded out about you two being. . .together? He'll come around."

Ian sighed and ran a hand down his face before sneaking a look at Mickey. "Sorry about that. He's an asshole."

Mickey stood up. "I'm going to go have a smoke."

"Are you coming back?" Ian asked, not even bothering to hide his desperation.

Mickey resisted the strong urge to reach out and stroke Ian's cheek to reassure him. "Chill, man, I'll be back. I'm just going right outside."

Once he was outside on the back porch and away from the stuffiness of the kitchen, he ran a hand down his face and sighed heavily. As much as he wanted to be here with Ian, he didn't know how much more of this family and their weird looks he could take. Besides, having so many people suddenly know your biggest, darkest secret was unnerving, to say the fucking least.

The screen door opened behind him and he expected Ian to come up beside him, but, instead, Carl moved to stand next to him.

Mickey looked down at the kid, his eyebrow quirked. "Can I help you with something?"

"It's my porch. Don't gotta explain shit to you about why I'm out here."

Mickey resisted the smirk that tugged at his lips, thinking maybe this Gallagher wasn't so bad. He thought about it only briefly before holding his cigarette out for the younger boy to take.

Carl stared at the cigarette and then immediately brightened up as he took it. He took a couple hits like a pro before handing it back. "So," he began after a weird pause. "Are you and my brother boyfriends?"

Mickey honestly didn't know how to answer that. "We hang out."

"You were in his bed."

Mickey looked away and flicked his cigarette, suddenly wishing the little shit would go away.

"It's cool, you know, if you are," Carl continued. "I was just wondering. He seems happy around you."

Mickey was quiet for a long time, knowing that anything he said could and probably would be held against him, "I'm happy around him too…I guess," he added as an afterthought, not wanting to sound too much like a bitch.

"Do you love him?" Carl asked, actually sounding sincere.

Mickey gripped the railing in front of him and hung his head. He pushed forward a little and then opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted when the door opened behind them.

"You guys okay out here?" Ian asked, his eyes darting between them.

"Yeah, cool," Mickey said throatily.

"Dinner's ready," Ian said and then opened the screen door to allow Carl to sneak in under his arm. He looked at Mickey, his expression soft. "Are you staying? There's plenty of food to go around."

"Yeah," Mickey said, tossing his cigarette out into the night. He then grabbed the bottom of Ian's shirt and tugged him forward. He leaned up and kissed Ian sweetly on the mouth. "I'm staying."

* * *

Frank Gallagher stumbled into the Alibi Room, already drunk from the bottle of scotch he'd been toting around the neighborhood all day, but figured he could finish himself off here for the night.

He staggered his way up to the bar and sat on a stool, ignoring Kevin's disapproving sneer. "Shot of bourbon, my good man. Keep 'em comin'," he slurred, slapping a handful of crumpled bills on the bar top.

Just as Frank got the shot in his hand, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder and he peered back to find Terry Milkovich towering behind him.

"Oh, hey there," he said dejectedly, turning in his stool to get a better look at the other man. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, a fist connected hard against his nose, causing Frank to tumble backwards to the floor in a blubbering, cursing heap.

"Come on, guys, take it outside," Kevin warned. "I don't want blood all over the place. I just waxed the floors."

Terry leaned down over Frank menacingly. "You think you could get over on me, get out of giving me my money? Just because my son and your faggot kid got me the money, doesn't mean you're free and clear, Gallagher. You still owe me, you piece of shit."

Frank stared up at him through narrowed eyes as he held his broken nose, blood pouring through his fingers. "Ah, come on," he slurred. "You're not going to let me slide on technicalities?"

Terry bent down and grabbed Frank roughly by the wool collar of his coat, pulling his fist back to strike again.

"I mean, we're practically family," Frank continued, flinching even as he spoke.

"Family? What the fuck are you on about, Gallagher?"

"Well, I figure since our boys are now giving it to each other up the crapper, that makes us practically related," Frank said, his words hanging heavily in the air as Terry's grip on him loosened.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Terry asked, a dark look crossing over his face as Frank's words sank in.

Frank laughed nervously and then sighed a heavy sigh of relief when Terry let go of him completely. He flattened himself on the floor and stared up at the ceiling as Terry Milkovich slammed out of the bar in a fit of rage. "Bartender," Frank said, lifting a finger in the air. "I'm gonna need another shot."

* * *

"What are we even doing right now?" Ian asked with a laugh as he followed Mickey through a break in the fence and onto the baseball field. "It's too cold to be out here, especially when my family knows about us and we can actually fuck where it's warm now."

"Just shut up, will ya. I didn't bring you out here to fuck," Mickey said before reaching back and surprising Ian by taking his hand. "Just come on and stop arguing with me. Fuck."

Ian could only grin as he allowed Mickey to lead him to the middle of the field. He then watched with growing interest as Mickey unhooked the backpack from his shoulders and then opened it, pulling out a threadbare blanket and spreading it out.

After the blanket was laid out, Mickey sat down and motioned for Ian to follow with a jerk of his head. Once Ian was sat next to him, he reached into his backpack and pulled out two beers.

Mickey glanced over at him with a perturbed look. "Does your mouth ever stop running?"

"You weren't complaining about my mouth this morning," Ian quipped as he took the proffered beer.

Mickey kept looking at him as he brought his beer to his mouth and took a sip. He then looked away and burped. He waited a bit to say, "I wanted to bring you out here to talk. There's some serious shit we need to discuss that really needs to be discussed before any of this can go any further."

Ian's shoulders slumped and he nodded, hoping they would have been able to keep living in their own little happy bubble for a little while longer. "I know."

"Shit," Mickey said as he looked Ian over. "You're fucking shivering, man. Maybe this wasn't my brightest idea."

"No," Ian said, leaning into him a little. "I kinda like being out here with you like this."

Mickey smiled softly and then broke the intense eye contact to look up at the sky. "Yeah, I guess it is kinda fucking romantic as all fuck, ain't it? The stars being all out and shit."

"Spoken like a true poet," Ian teased and then was caught off guard when Mickey leaned in and kissed him gently; just a soft, sweet brushing of lips.

When they broke apart, they touched foreheads and smiled, their ragged breathing mingling between them in white puffs.

"Com'ere," Mickey rasped as he wrapped an arm around Ian's shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple. "I'll keep you warm."

He had been intent on bringing Ian to the baseball field to talk about the future and circumstances of their relationship—important things that definitely needed to be discussed—things like his dad and the fact that he was closeted; but he realized, sitting there under the stars with his arm wrapped around Ian, they could deal with the bad stuff another time.

They hadn't been able to have many good days since being home. He figured they deserved this one.


	39. A Monster Among Us

The next morning, Mickey's eyes fluttered open as he was pulled from his slumber to find Ian adorably nuzzling and sprinkling kisses on his neck. "What are you doing?" he grumbled, reaching up to dig his fingers in red hair.

"Trying to get frisky," Ian murmured softly, not wanting to wake his sleeping brothers.

"Can we get frisky a little later, please? I'm trying to sleep here," Mickey grumbled sleepily. "It's not even fucking light outside yet. Time is it, anyway?"

"I wanna get frisky now though," Ian whispered hotly against Mickey's ear. He then grabbed Mickey's hand and guided it down under the blankets to allow Mickey to feel his hard dick pressing against his sweatpants. "See how hard you make me?" he asked huskily. "You make me so fucking hard, Mickey."

Mickey stroked Ian through his sweats now on his own accord. "Jesus, Ian," he breathed out before turning his face and capturing Ian's lips with his own.

Ian groaned his approval into Mickey's mouth and shifted onto his back, pulling Mickey halfway on top of him.

Mickey continued kissing him lazily as he ran his hand along Ian's bare torso, his fingers feathering over his chest and abs before slipping his hand under the waistband of Ian's sweats.

Ian arched off the bed and gasped into Mickey's mouth as he stroked him.

"Feel good?" Mickey husked as he flicked his wrist and rounded his thumb over the tip.

"So good," Ian choked out and then Mickey's mouth was back on his; hot, wet and demanding, their tongues fighting for dominance as Mickey jerked him off.

Mickey swallowed Ian's gasps and moans as he stroked him. He didn't pull back from the kiss or slow his strokes until Ian finally came hot in his hand. He gave a few more flicks of his wrist until Ian was practically whimpering beneath him. He then pulled back and smirked down at him. "You good?"

"Yeah," Ian choked out, his eyes still closed. "All good."

"Can I go back to sleep now, please?"

"Yeah, you do that," Ian said, leaning up and pecking him softly on the lips. "I'm going to go take a shower. I'm all sticky now."

Mickey murmured his response and was already relaxed back against the pillows, his eyes drooping.

Ian watched for a while as Mickey slept; tracing his nose, cheekbone, and jaw line with the tips of his fingers, before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He then crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for that much-needed shower.

* * *

After his shower, Ian poked his head in to peak into the bedroom, finding Mickey still sound asleep with the pillow clutched protectively to his chest.

He still couldn't fully wrap his head around the fact that Mickey was here, in his house, sleeping in _his_ bed with actual witnesses around. He knew it was a huge deal in Mickey's eyes, and he knew it meant something really important. They had yet to discuss what that something really important was, but he wasn't going to rush anything. He didn't want to push while everything was still so fragile.

He smiled to himself as he watched Mickey for a few seconds more, his heart fluttering in his chest, before pulling the door shut and making his way down to the kitchen to get some coffee.

Fiona was at the counter, getting the kids' bagged lunches ready for school. She looked up and smiled at him. "Hey! You're up early. You usually don't get up until seven on school days."

Ian knew his sister would rather not hear about the hand job Mickey had given him, so he just said, "I couldn't sleep." He walked around the counter, pulled her close, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"What was that for?" Fiona asked, looking pleased at the gesture.

"I know I've been a miserable little shit these past couple weeks," Ian explained as he reached in a cupboard for a coffee mug.

"It's okay, we all have our moments. You seem to be in a good mood now, though."

"Uh huh."

"And I'm guessing Mickey has a lot to do with that?"

After pouring his coffee, Ian turned and rested his butt against the counter. "He does," he said simply, not knowing if he was ready for this conversation this early in the morning.

"Just. . .be careful, okay?"

Ian sighed against the rim of his mug. Yeah, he definitely wasn't ready.

"I'm not saying it to get under your skin, I'm saying it because I love you. Just be careful with Mickey. We all worry about you and we don't want you getting hurt again. And I know you don't want to hear it, but given the circumstances of what brought you two together in the first place—"

"I think he might love me." Ian said softly, cutting her off.

Fiona was quiet for a while before saying, "Has he said that?"

"No, but I don't think he has to."

Fiona reached up and touched his cheek. "I hope he does. I really hope he does. . .but just remember, he's still a Milkovich."

Ian watched as Fiona went back to packing the lunches, his good mood suddenly dampened.

* * *

Ian and Mickey were hidden behind a thick oak tree as they kissed.

Ian knew he was already late for his first period class, but he wasn't about to turn down free kisses as long as Mickey was still willing to dish them out.

"I really have to go, Mickey," Ian said breathlessly, finally breaking away from the hungry kiss and pressing his forehead to Mickey's.

"Can't you just ditch again today? Who needs school anyway?" Mickey asked huskily before leaning in to capture Ian's swollen bottom lip between his teeth. He ran his tongue along it teasingly, causing Ian to smile into the kiss, which in turn caused Mickey to smile.

"Can't," Ian murmured.

Mickey pulled back a little and ran his fingers through Ian's hair from the top of his head down to the nape of his neck, and then he pulled him in for another deep kiss. "Get back here," he murmured right before their lips touched.

Their tongues tangled slowly as they both moaned inside each other's mouths, neither of them able to get enough of the other.

Finally, Ian forced himself to pull away, backing up a few inches only to have Mickey chase him with his mouth. Ian laughed as he pressed a hand to Mickey's chest. "I seriously have to go, Mickey. I already skipped school yesterday, remember?"

"I vaguely remember there being a couch."

Ian smirked and then continued. "I'm just finally starting to get my grades back to where they used to be."

Mickey gripped his hands down Ian's biceps, then slid his hands down his forearms, and then linked their fingers together. "Alright, alright," he finally relented. "You gonna meet me after school at the field like we talked about?"

"I'll be there."

"Better be," Mickey said huskily, trailing his eyes down the length of Ian's body as he reluctantly stepped away, their hands still locked until they were forced to break apart.

Ian kept walking backwards, a grin spreading across his face.

Mickey grinned back, feeling like a complete and total idiot, but not giving a shit at the moment. He was going to allow himself to be happy this once.

* * *

Iggy walked into the Milkovich home and stopped dead in his tracks when he found his father sitting on the couch staring straight ahead at nothing, with a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. He could tell the old man was blitzed and in a daze.

This couldn't be good.

"You okay, Pops?" he asked apprehensively.

Terry didn't say anything at first, just lifted the bottle slowly to his lips and took a swig. "I'm going to need your help with something, son."

Iggy nodded, always eager and willing to please his father. "Absolutely. You know I'm on it. Anything you need. We going on a run? Should I get my gun?"

Terry finally turned his bloodshot eyes on Iggy. "You know your brother's been fucking that Gallagher kid?"

Iggy went stock-still and he suddenly forgot how to breathe. The venom in his father's voice was enough to send a chill down his spine.

He had had a feeling that something was going on between Mickey and the Gallagher kid, but he hadn't known for sure. The fact that his father was now privy to that information meant something seriously fucked up was about to go down, and he had just unknowingly agreed to go along with it.

"Your brother's a fucking queer," Terry spat darkly. "How 'bout that."

Iggy just stood there, not knowing what to say.

Terry stood up suddenly. "Come on," he said as he headed towards the door. "We have a redheaded fag to round up. We're going to finish what we fucking started."

* * *

Ian was casually walking down the street. It was an unseasonably warm day out for December, and it was a rare day that he didn't have ROTC training right after school. He couldn't wait to go home, shower, and then meet up with Mickey at the baseball field. As he thought about Mickey, he hung his head and smiled, feeling happier than he had in a long time.

Ian was wearing ear buds that were currently blasting rock music into his head as he walked; so he didn't see or hear the Milkovich beater slowly pull up behind him. He didn't hear the sound of a door opening, or the footsteps briskly coming up from behind him.

Suddenly, a large, calloused hand was covering his mouth and a strong arm was tugging him backwards as he struggled to break free. Before he could even begin to comprehend what was happening to him, he was being tossed carelessly into a trunk.

The last thing he saw before the darkness surrounded him was Terry Milkovich's face leering down at him.

* * *

Mickey checked his watch (or, rather, Ian's watch) for the third time and then sighed in irritation. Ian was supposed to meet him at the baseball field over twenty-five minutes ago. He cursed under his breath and took a sip of his beer, vowing to get Ian a fucking cell phone the first chance he could get his hands on some extra cash.

* * *

"Fuck," Ian cursed to himself as he wildly looked around in the darkness, feeling around with his hands for any type of latch to get himself out. They had been driving for a good ten minutes now, and the more time it took to get to wherever the hell Mickey's dad was taking him, the more terrified he became.

He was crying, his whole body shaking with fear, as he desperately clawed at the trunk. He then stilled when the car suddenly seemed to stop and he sucked in a deep breath, waiting. He heard two doors slam shut and then the sounds of footsteps getting closer.

Ian's eyes widened as soon as the trunk opened. Before he could react, Terry grabbed him roughly and tugged him out of the trunk before throwing him carelessly to the ground. Ian gasped in pain as the toe of a boot then cracked against his ribs, sending a searing pain straight down his side.

"Pick him up. Let's go," Terry ordered gruffly to someone, and then Ian found himself being hoisted up.

It was the middle of December, so it was already getting dark out even though it was barely 5 o'clock. Ian numbly lifted his head to take in his surroundings, only catching a glimpse of water and some docked boats before he was being lugged into some sort of rundown boathouse.

"Put him over there," Terry ordered and then Ian was tossed carelessly down onto a metal folding chair. His hands were brought roughly behind his back and fastened with handcuffs that were closed too tight. He lifted his heavy head and looked up to find that it was Iggy who was doing his father's dirty work this time.

Iggy and Ian locked eyes for a brief moment before the blond Milkovich brother quickly looked away, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing.

Ian then quickly shifted his gaze to find Terry suddenly advancing on him. Without warning, Terry punched Ian so hard in the gut that Ian couldn't suck in air to breathe for a good half a minute as he doubled over in pain.

"You and your daddy thought you could get one over on me, did you, faggot?" Terry asked gruffly as he grabbed Ian's hair and tugged his head back roughly to force Ian to look up at him. "You thought you could just run off with my boy, disobey and disrespect me, and come back with the money and that everything would just magically go away?"

Ian whimpered when Terry tugged his head back even further, feeling as if his scalp was on fire and afraid his neck was going to snap.

"And then I come to find out that you and my boy have been fagging it up with each other." Terry bent down, still gripping Ian's hair, so that he could whisper in his ear. "Well, that ends today, you pole-smoking queer. I'm going to make sure of that." He let go of Ian's hair with a hard push to his head and straightened up to turn to Iggy, who was standing awkwardly off to the side, his face white and his eyes downcast.

"Get the word out to Frank Gallagher. He has until midnight tonight to get me ten grand, or his faggot son here is getting a bullet to the brain like he should have weeks ago."

Ian let out a puff of air and dropped his chin to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body quaking and tears rolling hotly down his cheeks.

* * *

After contacting Colin to get the word out to Frank, Iggy hung up his phone with a shaky hand and looked over towards the Gallagher kid.

From what he had gathered from the few times he had encountered the guy, Ian Gallagher seemed like a halfway decent kid. And, obviously, it seemed like his brother was fond of him. He knew, deep down, that Gallagher didn't deserve any of this. Still, there was nothing he could do about any of it. He had to do as he was told. It's just the way it was.

"Word's getting out to Frank," Iggy told his father dejectedly.

"Good," Terry said. "Now call your asshole brother. I'm going to need him here for this."

"Colin is out looking for Frank."

"Not Colin, you moron. Mickey," Terry said gruffly. "Get him down here. I have plans for him too."

Iggy saw Ian's head shoot up out of the corner of his eye and he swallowed the large lump in his throat, hesitating for only a few seconds before reluctantly dialing Mickey's number.

* * *

Ian was now almost an hour late and Mickey was starting to get pissed the fuck off.

"Christ, Ian, what the fuck," he grumbled to himself as he finished off his fourth beer.

Just as he was about to give up and head to the Gallagher home to see if Ian had forgotten their plans—and fully intending to kick his ass if he had—his phone buzzed in his pocket. He rushed to answer it, his shoulders slumping when he saw that it was only his asshole brother.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Mickey."

"The fuck do you want?"

"We're, uh, we're out at that abandoned boathouse out at Burnham Harbor; you know, that place we took that guy that one time and messed him up pretty bad?"

"Okay," Mickey said slowly and irritably, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the field for any sign of Ian. "What the fuck are you doing out there?"

There was a long tense pause before Iggy delivered the words that knocked the wind completely out of Mickey and sent him dashing into action.

"He's got Ian, Mick."

* * *

Ian stared blankly down at the wooden floorboards; his head, ribs and neck throbbing in pain. The tears had finally stopped flowing, leaving his face damp and sticky. He sat frozen, afraid to move or look up, afraid to even breathe.

"Send me the Russian," Terry rasped into his phone, making sure to keep his gun aimed at Ian the entire time. "Burnham Harbor, I'll have my boy meet her outside. . .and tell her to hurry." Once he hung up, he went to Ian, gripped his chin roughly and forced him to meet his eyes. "My boy's on his way. I have a little surprise for the both of you." He grinned maliciously and then patted Ian's cheek hard.

Ian lifted his wet eyes when Terry turned his back, daring to sneak a look at Iggy, who in turn quickly looked away. Ian could tell that Iggy was having some serious issues with all of this, but seemed to be just as terrified of his father as Mickey was.

Ten minutes of eerie silence later, Terry's phone finally buzzed and he answered it. "Hello? Alright." He hung up and looked at Iggy. "The whore's here. Bring her inside."

Ian's eyebrows furrowed, wondering why Terry would call for a prostitute. Suddenly, everything began falling into place in his head, and his stomach churned at the very thought. "No," he said disbelievingly, the word falling from his lips inaudibly.

He then watched with a heavy heart and a sick stomach as Iggy and a tall, leggy brunette returned a minute later.

"Ah, Svetlana," Terry announced jovially. "Punctual as always. . .and have I got a job for you."

The woman stared blankly at Ian battered and tethered to a chair, no doubt wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into.

"No. No, please," Ian finally said, his voice coming out cracked and hollow. "Please, you can't do this! You can't!" he begged, crying openly again. "Please don't do this! Don't do this to him! He's your fucking kid!"

"Who said you could fucking speak!" Terry roared, stalking over to Ian and pistol-whipping him without warning.

The last thing Ian heard was Svetlana crying out in shock and Iggy yelling _'fuck!'_ before everything went black.

* * *

Mickey had never been so scared for someone else in his life.

His mind was blank, focused solely on getting to Ian, as he tore through town, running as fast as his legs could take him.

He had tears streaming down his face as he ran, pure terror gripping at his heart. He knew the crazy, sick shit his father was capable of. . .he had seen it with his own two eyes.

Once he reached the marina, he raced towards the boathouse at the far end, the one tucked away from view of the main street, far from anyone's eyes behind trees. In the dead of winter, it really was the perfect place to keep someone hostage, he thought with a sick stomach.

When he entered the boathouse still running and gasping for air, he stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw before him.

He barely even registered his father, brother and a strange woman watching him, his eyes only landing on Ian.

His sucked in a shaky, wet breath and he blinked back bitter tears as he took in the sight of Ian tethered to a chair, his chin to his chest, a huge ugly gash at his temple, his face covered in blood.

"About time you showed up," Terry said gruffly.

"Pops. Dad!" Mickey wailed, his eyes still glued on Ian. He wanted nothing more than to run over to him and scoop him up in his arms, but knew that was impossible. "Look! Look, I don't know what this about, alright, but we got you the money!" he suddenly exclaimed desperately as he finally dared to look at his father. "We gave you the _fucking money_ !" he yelled.

"You watch your fucking tone with me, boy!" Terry bellowed as he then pointed his gun at his own son. "Forget the fucking money! Why don't we discuss how the two of you have been fucking each other up the asses like a bunch of fucking queers!"

Mickey recoiled and sucked in a sharp inhale at his father's words.

Terry took in Mickey's reaction and lowered his gun a little, a look of pure and utter disgust on his face. "So, it's true. You've been taking it up the ass like some fucking fairy."

"Dad," Mickey began again, his voice broken and desperate.

Terry turned the gun on Ian once again and cocked it. "I should kill your little boyfriend right fucking now."

"Dad, no, dad!" Mickey shouted desperately, his voice wrecked. "Please! Hold on a fucking second! Don't hurt him, alright! We can. . .we can talk about this!"

"Look at you," Terry spat, his face screwed up in revulsion. "Protecting your little faggot boyfriend. You make me sick." He lowered the gun and then looked over at the woman standing in the corner, her face stark white and her wet eyes downcast. "I'm not going to kill your boyfriend just yet," he said. "I need him to see something first."

Mickey's wet eyes shot to the woman in the corner of the room and then he looked back at his father, his eyes widening.

"Svetlana, get over here," Terry ordered with a point of his gun before looking back at Mickey. "I got you a little present, boy. No son of mine is going to be goddamn queer." He then walked over to Ian and yanked his head up by his hair. "She's going to fuck you, kid, and you're going to like it."

"Jesus Christ," Mickey said breathlessly, feeling like he got punched in the chest when he saw Ian's blood-stained face.

As Terry tugged harshly on his hair, Ian slowly began to come to, his eyes blinking rapidly, his face crumbling in pain. "Wake up, kid. Don't want you to miss the show. It's gonna be a good one."

"Ian," Mickey choked out in spite of himself and watched as Ian's eyes darted slowly around the room before finally landing on him. Mickey's chest heaved with emotion and his eyes swam with unshed tears as he stared back into those scared, hopeless green eyes, knowing that there was nothing he could do to protect him this time.

Terry turned towards Svetlana. "Strip," he ordered. "I want you to fuck the faggot out of him," he said, waving his gun towards Mickey. He then looked down at Ian, gripping his chin and forcing his head back, "and you're going to goddamn watch."

Mickey stared at his father at that moment, no longer seeing a man, but a monster. He shook his head profusely and took a step back as the woman slid off her slinky black dress as told. "No. No, pops. Don't fucking do this, please!"

"Lay down on the fucking ground and enjoy it like a fucking man, you pussy!"

"Dad, no," Mickey pleaded.

Terry took a determined step towards Ian and pressed the tip of the gun right at Ian's temple. "Do it now. Don't make me say it again!"

"Fuck, please! There has to be a better fucking way," Mickey begged desperately, choking on his own sobs, and then watched as his father strode over to him. Just as he was about to open his mouth, his father punched him hard in the face, causing Mickey to gasp and double over, sputtering blood onto the floor.

"I fucking warned you, kid. Say goodbye to your boyfriend," Terry snapped before aiming the gun at Ian once again.

"NO!" Mickey cried out in sheer desperation.

Two shots fired in quick succession.

Mickey felt as if he was watching everything happen in slow motion.

Ian was hit square in the shoulder with a bullet, blood immediately soaking through the green hoodie he was wearing.

"No, no, no," Mickey mumbled numbly as he stood up on wobbly legs and then watched as his father fell to his knees, clutching at his side. He didn't think too much about that and quickly ran to Ian's side.

"Fuck! Ian!" he yelled. He mindlessly tossed his cell phone towards the naked prostitute. "Call 911. . .now!" He then ran behind Ian and found that he was cuffed and not simply tied with rope. His head shot up to look towards his shell-shocked brother. "Key! Give me the goddamn key! Now!"

Iggy stood stock-still, staring blankly down at his father, who was writhing on the ground in excruciating pain, blood pooling out and around his side. He then shook himself from his stunned reverie and flew into action and gave a distraught Mickey the key to the handcuffs.

"I shot him, Mick," Iggy said, sounding weak and disoriented. "I shot Pops. I tried to stop him. I tried to—"

But Mickey wasn't listening.

"Hold on, Ian," Mickey said frantically as he fumbled with the key and handcuffs with shaky, trembling hands. "Hold on for me, you hear me!"

Finally, after what seemed like way too long, he got Ian's hands free and then he carefully eased Ian down onto the floor with him and cradled Ian between his legs, holding him back against his chest as he desperately placed his hands over Ian's gunshot wound, pressing down as hard as he could to try and stop the excessive bleeding as much as he could.

"Stay with me, Ian," he mumbled as he rocked gently. He cried and whispered unheard words of encouragement against Ian's temple as he heard sirens wailing in the distance. "Don't leave me. Hang on."


	40. Thinking Out Loud

Mickey was sitting numbly in the middle of a bustling Chicago police station; officers, detectives and handcuffed criminals milling about, phones ringing off the hook around him. But he heard and saw nothing; nothing even vaguely registered in his mind.

He felt like he was living in the middle of a hellish nightmare.

He couldn't get the image of Ian's pale, bloodied, limp body being strapped to a stretcher and lifted into an ambulance out of his head. He would _never_ be able to get that out of his head.

He had no idea what was going on, had no idea how Ian was doing, had no idea if Ian was even still fucking _breathing_. It had been nearly three hours since he had been brought into the station for questioning, and he had spoken to three different officers already.

He was going crazy out of his fucking mind with worry, and wondering how many more fucking statements he would have to give before he could finally leave.

How many more ways could he tell what happened? That his father was an evil, psychotic, homophobic prick who had kidnapped the boy he was fucking, and that his other son had shot the bastard as he was aiming the gun to kill the kidnapped teenager?

He thought back to just that morning when they had been in bed together; the beautiful grin Ian had given him just before leaning down to kiss his forehead before going to take his shower. Ian had looked so happy in that moment, so hopeful and content.

He felt a lone tear slide slowly down his cheek as he ran through the day's events in his mind for the hundredth time.

How had things gone so completely and horribly wrong in one day?

His leg was bouncing furiously and he was two seconds away from snapping the fuck out and screaming on the top of his lungs, when he heard someone call his name. It took a moment to register and then he shot up from his seat and turned to see Mandy just as she was throwing her arms around his neck. He instantly found himself sobbing into her shoulder as he held onto her for dear life.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had hugged his sister; couldn't remember the last time he had cried in front of her. But, right now, he needed it.

"Jesus, Mickey." Mandy sobbed as she gripped the back of his head. She then pulled back and cupped his face. "Are you okay? Fuck."

Mickey couldn't speak, could only shake his head.

"Dad's most likely going to live," she said glumly. "They said his wound isn't life threatening. He's going to have surgery to remove the bullet, and then he's going to jail for a long, long time. Attempted murder and a class X felony kidnapping charge, most likely. He's never getting out."

"I better never see that fucker again, Mandy," he said, his voice shaking with emotion, "because I swear to fucking—"

"I know. I know," Mandy said.

"Iggy's in some fucking interrogation room right now getting grilled," Mickey said unsteadily. "He's going to get some time since he was an accomplice to the kidnapping, even though he tried to save Ian's life—"

Mandy rubbed at Mickey's shoulder.

"I need to get the fuck out of here, I need to make sure Ian is okay. Fuck, I don't know anything, they won't tell me anything or let me fucking leave!" Mickey yelled in aggravation, causing a few officers to turn and eye him cautiously.

"Okay, calm down. The last thing you need right now is to get arrested. I'll go talk to someone and get you outta here."

Mickey nodded dumbly as he sat back down in the chair that was next to the desk of the officer who had been questioning him but had since disappeared. He ran a hand over his tear-stained face, his leg resuming its furious bouncing as he impatiently waited.

* * *

After getting the all clear that he could go—on his word that he would come back to the station if they had any further questions—they drove to the hospital in record time.

Before Mandy had even had the car fully stopped, Mickey was already out of the car and racing into the emergency room. He stalked right up to the window. Even though the woman was on the phone, he slapped his hand impatiently on the counter a few times. "Hi! Hello. Excuse me!"

The lady covered her hand over the phone and looked perturbed as she said, "Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm looking for Ian Gallagher, he was brought in a couple hours ago." His voice quivered on his next words, "gun—gunshot wound."

After the lady pointed him in the direction of the waiting room, he hightailed in that direction, his sister hot on his trail. Once he reached the waiting room, he found all of the Gallaghers sitting around, looking somber and grief-stricken, and his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Is—is he okay?" he asked, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. "Tell me he's fucking okay!" Before he could register what was happening, Lip shot up from his seat, advanced on Mickey and punched him square in the jaw, sending him reeling backwards.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Lip roared and then he was being held back by Fiona and Kevin as he tried to attack again. "You have some fucking nerve showing up here, you prick! It's because of you and your fucked up family that he's even lying up in that fucking hospital bed right now!"

Mickey stared up at Lip in utter shock as he rubbed at his sore jaw.

"Let's go," Kevin said, tugging Lip out of the room. "Let's go take a breather, we can't be doing this here. Ian wouldn't want this. Come on, man."

Lip shrugged out of Kevin's grip, but left the waiting room anyway, his glare focused hatefully on Mickey as he walked out.

Mickey turned his eyes to the rest of the Gallaghers; seeing the doubt, anger and silent accusations in their eyes as well. "Just. . .just tell me he's going to be okay. Please. That's all I wanna know and then I'll go," he said forlornly, his eyes focused on the floor.

"He's going to be okay," Carl finally answered solemnly. "He lost a lot of blood, has a mild concussion, but he's going to be alright. They're doing surgery now to remove the bullet."

Mickey nodded curtly, intense relief flooding through him before turning and walking out of the room, knowing the Gallaghers had every right to feel the way they did, but it still stung like hell.

A little over an hour later, a doctor appeared and confirmed to everyone that the surgery had been successful; the bullet had been removed from Ian's shoulder and he had had a blood transfusion to make up for the massive blood loss. He still had a long way to go as far as recovery went, but he would be okay.

Now, all they had to do was wait for him to come to.

All of the Gallaghers sighed collectively in relief inside the waiting room as they hugged, cried and cheered; while Mickey stood uninvited out in the hallway, hugging his sister as intense relief washed through him.

* * *

Two hours later, Fiona and Debbie stood around Ian's bed, watching and waiting for him to finally wake up.

"You okay, Debs?" Fiona asked, reaching out to smooth Debbie's hair away from her damp face.

"Yeah. I'm just glad he's okay," Debbie choked.

"Me too," Fiona said with a gentle smile, hugging her little sister tightly.

Fiona and Debbie pulled away from their hug, their cheeks stained with tears. Suddenly, they heard a grunt from behind them and they both turned to find Ian watching them through hooded eyes.

"Ian!" Debbie exclaimed, running to his side.

"Hey, sweet face," Fiona said, walking around to the other side of the bed to stroke his cheek. "You're okay. You're okay. Don't move."

Ian closed his eyes, swallowed thickly, and then squirmed a little, his eyebrows furrowing in obvious pain.

"Debbie, go get a nurse, let them know he's awake," Fiona said and then looked back down at her brother. "Everyone's here to see ya. Lip, Carl and Liam are here. They went for a walk around the building. They'll be back," she said soothingly as she continued to stroke his cheek. "You scared the shit out of us, kid."

Ian just stared blankly up at her. When he finally spoke, his words were dry and scratchy but spoken with concern and desperation.

"Where's Mickey?"

* * *

Mickey and Mandy were sitting in the hospital cafeteria, untouched coffees sitting in front of each of them.

Mandy was still trying to process everything her brother had just told her about the past two and a half months. It was definitely a lot to take in. "I don't even know what to say to any of this."

Mickey didn't say anything, just stared down at his hands wrapped around his cardboard coffee cup. He felt emotionally, mentally and physically drained, so he couldn't even fully process the fact that he had just completely laid everything out on the table for her, including the fact that he was gay.

"So, you and Ian, huh?" Mandy said after a long pause. "Want to elaborate on that some more? Toss me some bread crumbs? Is he a good kisser? He's pretty cute, you know."

Mickey looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "After everything I just told you about—the two kidnappings, the running away, the illegal shit we did for money, the fact that our dad is a fucking psycho—you want to ask about me and Ian?"

"I'm a sucker for a good love story," Mandy said with a small, sad smile.

Mickey looked back down at his cup, his teeth working on his lower lip. "Maybe I should just go, Mands, see him when he's better and out of this shithole. Give everyone some space. No one wants me here. I'm just making shit more complicated."

"Ian wants you here."

"You don't know that."

"He obviously gives a shit about you, to willingly stick with you even after all that."

"I wouldn't fucking blame him if he never wants to see my ass again. I'm the one who put him in this fucking shitty situation to begin with."

"Fuck that! That asshole is the one who got Ian into this mess," Mandy said with a bite to her tone. She was teary-eyed again as she reached out and placed her hand over his. "Don't forget that, Mickey. That asshole did this to Ian, _not_ you."

Mickey turned his hand so that their fingers laced. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded numbly, even though he still didn't believe it himself.

They looked up when Debbie Gallagher sauntered up to them, tears stained on her cheeks.

"Ian's awake," Debbie said. "He wants to see you, Mickey."

Mickey shot out of his chair without hesitation and darted towards Ian's room, weaving in and out of doctors, nurses and patients in the hallway to get there, only vaguely registering the shouts and Mandy's voice calling out after him.

When he reached the room full of Gallaghers and Balls, Mickey breathlessly halted in the doorway, feeling all eyes land on him as he did so, but he didn't look at any of them.

No one else mattered right now; nothing else mattered but Ian.

He focused his attention solely on the hospital bed; on the beautiful redhead who was watching him, his eyes hooded and his lips slightly parted and chapped. His arm was in a sling and his head was bandaged. He could see tears swimming in Ian's eyes and Mickey had to blink back his own.

Tentatively, he made his way into the room, in front of all of the Gallaghers, the Balls and his sister, and stopped next to the bed. He watched as a tear slid slowly down Ian's cheek and into his hair.

He leaned forward, gingerly caressed Ian's cheek and then tenderly connected their foreheads. He let out a heavy, wet sigh of relief at the contact. He was crying openly now too, unable to stop the tears. He could feel all eyes on them, everyone waiting and watching, but—really—it was only the two of them.

He moved his hand up and ran it over Ian's hair before cupping his cheek, smoothing his thumb against his smooth skin. He pressed a gentle kiss to Ian's forehead.

"I love you," Mickey murmured, saying the words for the first time, even though he had felt it for weeks. He pulled back a little and stared down into those beautiful green eyes he had somehow fallen in love with. "I love you," he said again, with more finality.

Ian nodded weakly as he reached up to grab a hold of the wrist that was cupping his cheek.

Mickey could hear someone choke back a sob behind him, but it barely registered in his mind. He watched as Ian's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned back down to kiss his forehead again, his lips lingering.

* * *

Mickey left the room shortly after to give the Gallaghers some time with Ian and he headed outside for a much-needed smoke and breather. When he got outside, he rubbed at his damp eyes with the heels of his hands and looked up. He laughed wryly when he saw that Lip had had the same idea he did.

Just as he was about to turn and head back inside, not wanting to cause any more conflict, Lip's words stopped him.

"I see it now."

Mickey slowly turned around and eyed Lip warily. He didn't say anything, only waited for the other man to elaborate.

Lip flicked his cigarette, looking completely uncomfortable in the moment as he stared off into the distance. He finally continued after a tense pause. "I didn't get it. Hell, part of me still don't understand how the hell it happened, but I guess it's not up to me to understand. But I believe you. I believe you care about my brother."

"I love your brother," Mickey reiterated without any hesitation. "I would never do anything to hurt him. I only pushed him away because I was trying to keep him safe."

"I know," Lip said with a curt nod of his head. "I know that now." He then waited a beat and then held his cigarette out for Mickey to accept.

Mickey hesitated for a brief moment before taking it.

It may have been the world's smallest olive branch, but he'd take it—if only for Ian's sake.

* * *

As visiting hours came to an end, Mickey stood awkwardly in the background as everyone said their goodbyes to Ian and then left as a herd, leaving Fiona alone in the hall.

Mickey rubbed at his lower lip with his thumb as he went out to join her.

Fiona wrapped her arms around herself and then looked up to find him standing there. They stood awkwardly facing each other, both of them still in shock over the day's events.

"My brother loves you, you know," Fiona said, speaking first. "Like _really_ fucking loves you."

Mickey just nodded, still rubbing at his lip, still looking down at the floor.

"You fuck with him, you fuck with all of us. You got it," Fiona warned, even though her words held no contempt. When Mickey finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, her posture softened. "You want to stay here with him tonight, don't you?"

"Yeah," he simply said.

Fiona sighed and ran a hand down her face, her big eyes swimming with tears. She finally nodded. "Okay. Okay." She then did something that surprised both of them; she reached out a hand and rubbed at his shoulder before turning and heading down the hall towards the elevators.

After getting Fiona's okay, Mickey stopped the first nurse he could find.

"Uh, excuse me. Can I stay with him for the night?" Mickey asked, nodding towards Ian's door.

"Are you an immediate family member?" the nurse asked, looking as if she were in a hurry to be somewhere else. "Only an immediate family member can spend the night with a patient."

Mickey nervously rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and shuffled a little back and forth. "No, uh, not immediate family," he said and, just as she was about to turn and hurry away, he added, "I'm his—I'm his boyfriend."

The nurse looked back at him for a moment, no doubt noticing how nervous and vulnerable he looked in the moment, and then smiled kindly with a nod towards the room. "Go ahead."

Mickey nodded curtly and then turned towards the room. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, feeling incredibly nervous all of a sudden and not really knowing why. He rocked back and forth a few times before sucking in a breath and entering the dimly lit room.

Ian was lying in the bed, his eyes focused up at the TV mounted on the wall. He slowly turned his head and smiled gingerly when he saw it was Mickey. "Hey, Mick," he said, his voice sounded so small and not like him at all.

"Hey," Mickey said as he stepped up next to the bed. His eyes darted everywhere but at Ian's face, afraid if he looked at him directly, he'd break down again. "How ya feeling?" He then quickly added, "That was probably a stupid fucking question, huh."

"I'm feeling pretty damn good actually," Ian said, holding up the button for his morphine dip.

Mickey mustered up a faint smile for Ian's benefit and then looked away towards the TV. After a short pause, he looked back down to find Ian watching him. "You, uh, mind if I crash here tonight? I don't really feel like going back to my place. I, uh, I cleared it with Fiona and with the nurse. They said it was cool."

Ian didn't say anything, just hoisted himself up a little on his good arm and attempted to scoot over. "Ah, fuck," he cried out.

"Hey, man, watch it, you're gonna hurt yourself," Mickey said as he rushed to help him.

Ian grimaced in pain and then fell back against the pillow. "Yeah, that fucking hurt."

Mickey toed off his shoes and then crawled into the tiny ass hospital bed with Ian. He didn't waste any time wrapping his arm around Ian's midsection and pressing a soft kiss to his bare, freckled shoulder where the hospital gown had slipped down a little.

Ian reached up and ran his fingers soothingly through Mickey's hair before resting his hand on the brunette's forearm that was wrapped around him.

They lay together for a long time, blankly staring at the episode of Jeopardy on the TV and listening to each other breathe.

"So, I heard you got shot," Mickey finally mumbled in a weak attempt to try and lighten the mood.

"Yeah," Ian drawled. "You know, just another day in the life of a South Side teenager. No big deal."

"You know, if Iggy wouldn't have stepped in and shot my dad. . .who knows where the bullet would have hit," Mickey said, his voice breaking.

"We don't have to talk about this right now, Mick."

Before Mickey knew what was happening, he was crying with his face pressed against Ian's shoulder.

"Hey," Ian murmured huskily when he felt the dampness of Mickey's tears against his skin. "Hey, Mick."

"I'm sorry," Mickey choked out. He lifted his head and kissed Ian's cheek, letting his lips linger. "I'm so fucking sorry, Ian, about everything. About kidnapping you, about breaking your heart and pushing you away, about this shit with my dad. I mean, look at you. . .you're lying up in a fucking hospital bed, for fuck's sake, all because of me. I tried to keep you safe. I fucking tried."

"Hey, none of this was your fault, you hear me?" Ian said, reaching up to cup Mickey's cheek, smoothing his thumb along his tears. "And, to be fucking honest, if I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn't change anything, because it brought me to you," he said sternly. "Well, I'd change the whole getting shot part. That part fucking sucked."

Mickey stared up at him tearfully and let out a puff of laughter before leaning in and kissing him; soft and sweet. He then rested his cheek against Ian's chest and closed his eyes, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat.

"I do love you, you know," Mickey murmured huskily into the fabric of Ian's hospital gown.

Even though Mickey couldn't see it, he could feel Ian smiling against the top of his head. "I love you too." Ian's fingers lightly fisted Mickey's t-shirt at his back and it was starting to lull Mickey to sleep. "Mick?" he asked after a few minutes, his own voice sounding sleepy.

"Hm?" Mickey hummed.

"He didn't make you. . .with that woman? You didn't—"

"No," Mickey said simply. "Nothing happened."

Ian let out a shaky sigh of relief and tightened his arm around Mickey, holding him even closer and nuzzling his nose in Mickey's hair.

Mickey looked up a few heartbeats later when he felt Ian tremble to find that he was crying, soft tears rolling down his cheeks, everything undoubtedly hitting him finally. "Hey," Mickey said huskily. "Hey, it's alright, Ian. Everything's alright." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ian's wet cheek. "It's just us now. It's over."

Ian nodded and touched his salty lips softly against Mickey's, liking the sound of that.

* * *

**~~Four Months Later~~**

Ian walked into the Milkovich home and headed straight for his and Mickey's bedroom. "Hey," he said with a grin as he dumped his backpack on the floor and then crawled onto the bed to give Mickey a sexy hello kiss.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to look up something here," Mickey murmured against Ian's lips, even though his tone held no contempt.

"Mmm," Ian moaned against Mickey's mouth as he angled his head and went in for a deeper kiss. As they kissed, he blindly grabbed the laptop from Mickey's lap and placed it aside before straddling his boyfriend.

"You're an asshole, you know that," Mickey said breathlessly as Ian began tonguing the shell of his ear.

"Speaking of assholes," Ian grumbled, his words trailing off as he laced his fingers through Mickey's and then leaned back, a playful smirk on his lips.

"You think you're so fucking cute, don't you," Mickey said as his eyes fell on Ian's lips. Just as he was about to lean in for another kiss, Ian pulled back. "Oh, now that you got _me_ all revved up, you're going to be a fucking tease? Is that how it is?"

Ian laughed and leaned in to kiss him quickly before pulling away and glancing at the laptop. "What were you looking up anyway? Porn?"

"Who needs porn when I have my very own hot, horny, cornball boyfriend that jumps me any chance he can get?"

"Mm, say it again," Ian said, arching in for another kiss.

"Cornball?"

"No. Boyfriend."

"Mm. . .boyfriend," Mickey murmured slowly against Ian's lips.

Ian gripped Mickey's head and deepened the kiss hungrily.

When they finally pulled apart for air, Mickey answered Ian's previous question breathlessly, "I was online looking up some stuff. . .about GED classes."

"Oh," Ian said with a smile. "Actually thinking about your future now, huh?"

"Yeah, well, things don't seem so hopeless anymore," Mickey said, his voice gruff as he placed his hands on Ian's hips, his thumbs smoothing over the bare skin that showed where Ian's t-shirt hitched up. "My asshole father's going to prison for a long ass fucking time and I got myself a hot boyfriend. What more could I fucking want?"

"Oh yeah? What else do you see for your future?"

"I don't know," Mickey said huskily, his hands sliding down and rounding over Ian's ass. "Maybe I can try and get a decent job, maybe actually try and make something of myself." He paused and smiled softly before saying, "I was also kinda thinking about keeping this redheaded idiot I know around for a little while."

Ian cupped Mickey's face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. "So, you wanna be with me for awhile then, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. I must be a glutton for punishment, to be willing to put up with your annoying ass for long periods of time."

"You love me and my ass."

Mickey only smiled and squeezed that ass, holding his boyfriend down tighter against him.

"You know, if you really think about it," Ian continued with narrowed eyes, "this whole thing is kinda turning into a Julia Roberts bitch flick after all."

"Fuck you, is what it's turning into."

Before Ian could respond, Mickey wrapped an arm around him and abruptly flipped them over so that Ian was now on his back, their mouths slotting together in a hungry kiss.

"Your shoulder okay?" Mickey asked breathlessly when he pulled away.

"Little sore, but it's okay."

"Wanna fuck?" Mickey asked as he straddled him.

"Hell yeah, I wanna fuck."

Mickey laughed and pressed his forehead to Ian's lips.

Ian reached a hand up and cupped Mickey's cheek. "I wanna do something different tonight though."

Mickey visibly swallowed as his eyes searched Ian's face. "Different, huh? You want. . .want me to pull out the beads. . .?"

Ian reached up on the bed mantel and grabbed for the condoms and lube and handed them to Mickey.

It only took a few seconds for it to sink in before Mickey was asking. "Are you sure? We've never. . .you haven't—"

"I know," Ian said softly, reaching up to stroke Mickey's face, "but I want to. I want you to fuck me, Mickey."

Mickey knew that this was a huge implication of trust coming from Ian, and his chest swelled with emotion. Even after everything they had been through, Ian trusted him.

He leaned down and captured Ian's lips with his own as his hands moved down in-between them. He fumbled with Ian's button and zipper until they opened, and then ran his hands up Ian's torso, dragging his t-shirt up as he went. He waited for Ian to sit up a little before tugging the shirt off the rest of the way and tossing it to the floor.

He then went back in for a deeper, more passionate kiss as Ian's hands rounded over his ass. He broke free from the kiss only long enough to reach behind his head and pull his own shirt off before leaning back down eagerly.

With soft, gentle lips, he feathered kisses along the healing bullet wound scar on Ian's shoulder.

Ian watched him with hooded eyes as he lazily ran his fingers through Mickey's hair. "That tickles," he murmured.

Mickey smiled and kissed his way across Ian's chest and then licked a line up Ian's throat and then back to his lips.

Ian arched up, motioning for Mickey to get up. "Come on, Mickey," he rasped. "I've been thinking about this since second period," he said with a playful smirk.

"Oh, have you now?" Mickey asked as he stood up to remove the rest of his clothes. He then knelt back on the bed and grabbed Ian's pants and boxers at once and pulled them down and off. He then positioned himself at the foot of the bed and teasingly nipped at the inside of Ian's right ankle.

"You're going to be a dick about this, aren't you?"

"Little bit," Mickey said with a lascivious grin. He then continued nipping and licking his way slowly up Ian's inner thigh before moving over to nip and suck at the other one.

"I hate you so much right now," Ian choked out as he arched and spread his legs.

"No, you don't. Your cock certainly don't," Mickey rasped just as he grabbed Ian's dick, licked a long, slow stripe up the underside before swallowing him down as much as he could take him without choking.

As Mickey worked his mouth on his cock, Ian bit his lower lip and grabbed the lube to slather his fingers. He turned a little and slowly worked two fingers into his own ass, wanting to be as ready as possible for Mickey.

As Mickey sucked Ian's dick, he watched with hooded eyes as Ian fucked himself with his fingers. He reached down and began stroking his own cock at the fucking amazing sight. He pulled his mouth from Ian's dick and groaned. "Christ, Ian, you have no fucking idea how hot you look right now."

"Mickey," Ian whimpered as he added a third finger. "Come on, I'm ready."

Mickey crawled up the length of Ian's body and grabbed for a pillow to prop under Ian's ass.

"Here, I got you," Mickey said, slapping Ian's hand away. He then slid his own two fingers inside of Ian as his other hand stroked Ian's cock. He watched as Ian arched and moaned and sucked on his bottom lip, and Mickey knew it wasn't going to take him long to come once he was buried deep in Ian's ass. "Jesus, you're so fucking amazing like this."

"Mick, please," Ian begged. "Come the fuck on. Need you."

Mickey leaned forward to grab the condom, bending down to kiss Ian as he did so, their mouths sucking and lapping at each other's lips hungrily. He then pulled away from the kiss, tugging on Ian's bottom lip roughly as he did so, causing Ian to whimper. He sat back and rolled the condom on, anxious to get into that tight, wet heat for the first time.

Ian bent his legs and held them up, opening himself for the other man.

"Jesus," Mickey moaned as he positioned himself against the puckered hole. He grabbed a hold of Ian's right leg and hoisted it up and over his shoulder, holding onto it for leverage as he slowly and gently eased in.

"Oh, fuck," Ian gasped as he arched and dug his fingers into Mickey's forearm.

"Am I hurting you?" Mickey asked breathlessly as he slowly buried himself to the hilt. He gasped when Ian clenched around him.

"No. I'll be alright," Ian rasped. "You can move, Mickey. Move. Jesus, move."

"Bossy little shit," Mickey murmured affectionately.

Ian replied with a wrecked groan.

Mickey slowly began to pull out and then sank back in with a satisfying grunt. He reached under Ian and grabbed his ass, angling him upwards more. He then grabbed Ian's other leg and lifted it over his shoulder as he set his steady, measured pace, wanting to hang onto his orgasm for as long as possible.

"Mick. Mickey, oh fuck," Ian whimpered.

Unable to resist kissing his boyfriend, Mickey released Ian's legs from his shoulders and then bent forward to kiss the gorgeous redhead that was cursing and sputtering beneath him. He picked up his pace and locked his fingers with Ian's, pressing their hands to the mattress.

Ian moaned and panted into Mickey's mouth as their tongues lazily tangled.

"You feel amazing, so fucking good," Mickey murmured against his lips. "I love you so fucking much."

"Love you," Ian moaned back as he unlocked his hands from Mickey's and dug his fingers into the meat of his ass, holding his boyfriend tighter to him.

Mickey slowed his thrusts eventually until he was barely moving at all, just slowly rolling his hips. He pulled away from the kiss so that he could watch every expression on Ian's face. He smiled tenderly as Ian whimpered and sputtered and muttered his praises beneath him.

Ian's eyes fluttered open and he smiled back at Mickey as much as he could through the intensity of it all.

They kept their eyes locked as they continued making love at a leisurely pace amidst the tangled sheets. Neither one of them were in any rush to finish, both deciding to just take their time with each other and enjoy it.

For once, they had all the time in the world.

**~The End~**


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